


Dirty Deeds

by leanmean



Category: Glee
Genre: Complete, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:45:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 38,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leanmean/pseuds/leanmean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night Rachel took that stage, everything changed...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lights, Cameras, Action!

_"No. Absolutely no. No more Broadway shows, no more Broadway parties, no more Broadway friends. You stay out of the media and off of the stage. Do you understand?"_

_Rachel digs her fingers into her scalp, her lip trembling as she fights back from the verge of tears. She is Rachel Barbra Berry and she will not, will not, show them weakness. Her voice is hoarse but strong, reaching for the pen as he slaps the paper down in front of her._

_"I understand."_

_"Good. You're lucky they're even letting you stay in New York. You sign that and get out of my sight. If I hear one peep of you, just one! You're done."_

_She eyes the man standing in the suit in front of her, his arms crossed with impatience, then reads over the contract, gasping as she gets to the final sentence._

I, Rachel Barbra Berry, will not perform for or in the public eye until this contract has been decidedly fulfilled by all parties, and further consent to my elimination, should I fail to meet the above noted demands at any time prior to the contractual fulfillment.

_This time the tears do flow, warm and silent over her cheeks. Moisture darkens delicate circles on the paper as she leans over it, scrawling her name, without the star, along the dotted line and sets down the pen. The man rips the contract away and strides across the dim room without a backward glance, slamming the door behind him, and Rachel's life comes crashing down._

A few months later…

"Go for Fabray."

"Q?"

"Yeah Boss."

"Why don't you answer your phone like a normal person?"

"…You know who you're talking to, right?"

"Good point. I saw you put in to cover that new club up town tonight. Is that still on? I want an entertainment insight column on that for the webpage. Place has rave reviews from every magazine but us, so cover it from a new angle. Maybe if it's good I'll let you cover it from every angle with that camera of yours. Dig?"

"On it."

"Fantastic. Thank your friend Brittany for getting us in. I'll be back in the office Monday with high expectations. Talk soon."

"Over and out."

Leaning forward, Quinn sets her phone back in its console, settling back into her brainstorm position. Hands clasped behind her head, she reclines in the high back leather chair, her feet resting precariously on the giant stack of papers on the desk, laptop nestled comfortably in her lap.

Perfect. Now if only she could find some inspiration.

_Shamelessly famous… and friendless? The who's who of celebrity who have it all... well, almost._

Lame.

_Fit to be tied [down], the perfect workout for your best bed body!_

Hurl. Over done.

_Fall's around the corner and the votes are in! We're pounding the pavement to get the scoop on the sleek chic seasonal wear that'll turn even the trendiest head. Whether you're hitting the gym or strutting the sidewalks, a little salmon goes a long way._

Sighing heavily, Quinn, pinches the bridge of her nose, opening another blank document. The thought of writing another frivolous article about hair care or healthy skin snacks gives her a migraine. Five years writing for Lush and all Quinn really wants to do is rip her framed feature pieces off the walls of her spacious corner office and let them rain down like confetti on the people of New York below. Sure the view from up here is great; the networking connections, the extravagant parties, the socialite suitors spoiling her with unwanted gifts, but in the end it's just like the rustic walnut walls surrounding her: totally fake.

Quinn drums absently on her keyboard, then reaches for the camera sitting on the desktop, tracing the lens affectionately with her finger. At first Quinn found comfort in the glossiness of the job. She spent so many years hiding behind this camera, capturing a world that was too real, too hard, and simply too much for her to handle head on. Now she'd give anything just to have time to even use it again, let alone to feel overwhelmed. She sighs setting the camera back in its usual place, and rubs the her temples.

Sometimes she wishes she had never written that first article; that she had just done her time, rotting away in the back corner of the dark room like the others, pining for that top photography job. What's the challenge in life when you're sitting on top of it? She's so far past the mystique of her early twenties. Isn't there anything that's real anymore?

Well now, that would be a good story, wouldn't it… But it's not today's story.

Quinn tucks her laptop into her shoulder bag and grabs her jacket, flipping her office light out as she leaves. Assistants and interns are hustling about the open conference space they share, busily preparing the final copy of Lush that will go to print tonight for tomorrow's news stand. Quinn smiles fondly at their hectic expressions, wishing some a good weekend as she passes, recalling when she was in their position just a few short years ago. She hits the elevator button, tapping her foot patiently as it rises from the bottom floor.

My how things change…

...of course, some things never would. The stress of being the most read in the country still makes Fridays oh so sweet, and the promise of a much needed adventure tonight at New York's hottest new club with her two best friends has Quinn smiling as the elevator doors close her in.

* * *

 "Do you want something else before the show starts?"

Santana spins the clear liquid in her glass and downs it, smacking her lips. "Yep, and better make it a double. If Brit's wearing what she packed this morning I'm gonna need something to keep me on my ass and away from her."

Chuckling, Quinn turns towards the bar and squeezes herself between the packed tables, the piano on stage interluding into a rousing version of Roll Out the Barrel. Black Cat Burlesque was living up to the reviews so far, Quinn thinks, already formulating a new spin on a feature in her head...

_There aren't many places in the great city of New York that have earned themselves a personality of their own. Yankee stadium? Sure. The Statue of Liberty? Of course. Broadway Lane? Well that's a given. But what about clubs? Yes, throw all of them in a single room and you'll have more pounding beats, gritty floors, and flashing lights then spring break in Cancun, but not one of them will stand out above the rest...u_ _ntil now._

_In_ _fact, I think we're looking at a whole new breed of distinction. This time, the city hasn't gone to the dogs, but to the cats..._

Well there's room for work there, but oh the clichés! Quinn laughs to herself as she pushes through a pack of prima donnas, feeling wonderfully alive. The essence of this place combined with the outlandish amount of groping on her ass as she crossed the room and it seems her connection with Brittany got her an assignment she's actually looking forward to. Finally.

Plus, the low lighting, smoky atmosphere, and gorgeous women in eye catching barely-theres, how could she resist?

"Can I help you, Miss?"

"Yeah, double tequila on the rocks and a dirty martini please." Quinn sends the bartender a wink as he turns to make her drinks, hoping it'll get her a little more for her money. Tucking her blonde hair behind her ears, she slips a twenty across the bar and wraps her hands around the glasses, turning to battle back to Santana as the piano player takes a final bow.

From what she'd researched, Black Cat was newly renovated by a few old Broadway performers who decided they'd just leave the cast open, anyone who could make it for weekly practices were welcome to perform come Friday night. And the dancers and singers, oh, they loved it. Come, sing whatever you want, dance slutty, AND keep the tips? What a deal! It took Brit three weeks to get in because there were no openings. And judging by the look of Brittany, the girls she hangs out with on set, and the pack of people Quinn had to fight through just to get a drink, she'd say business has been booming for all the right reasons.

"Thanks Q." Santana says, grabbing both glasses as Quinn slips back into her chair. Thank God she picked an aisle seat. If Santana wasn't so pumped to see Brittany's nearly naked dance routine, she'd definitely be bitching about the table up her ass, the 300 pounds of muscle to her left, and me, sprawled comfortably with leg room to spare on her right.

"Now that Charlie and the Chocolate Factory here is finally wrapping up, I hope Britt's group is up first. Mmm my girl."

"Just try not to drool all over the table. My leather jacket still hasn't come back from when she danced back up for J Lo."

"That was one time!"

"A whole year of the same show does not count as one, Santana."

The house lights dim as the band in a stage left alcove zips through a quick intro, the stage burning an electric blue with thick steamy fog billowing across the floor. AC/DC's Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap blasts through the amps as four girls, all long hair and high heels, strut out of the shadows, facing backstage.

"This is it! That's Brit second on the left! Oooo she looks so hot in those fishnets! Write that in your article!" Santana squeals in Quinn's ear, her nails digging into her forearm. Rolling her eyes, Quinn takes a quick sip of her drink, trying to shake the low hum in the base of her throat as the hips on stage begin to pop and grind in beat with the drums. The girls turn towards the crowd one by one, freezing in sexy poses as the band builds towards the vocal intro. Brittany spies them, sending a sultry wink towards the table. Santana whistles between her fingers.

A fifth shadow emerges in a doorway behind the girls, a silk laden voice, snarling through the opening verse as she cat walks through the four dancers to the mike stand at the front of the stage. Quinn feels her heart beat in time with the heavy breathing the backups layer into the song. The lead singer flips her deep brown hair out of her face and stuffs the mike in its stand, sassy in her thigh highs and black booty shorts, and Quinn's feels her cheeks heat up. She'd seen the movie Burlesque. Did not prepare her for this.

"No freaking way."

Quinn looks at Santana to see what she's fussing about, but she's changed focus, drooling as Brittany drops at the feet of the singer. Tracing her inner leg with her fingertips, Britt grinds back up her body, planting a firm kiss on her cheek before receiving a slap on the ass from the vocal vixen as the other girls back stage move to join them.

The girls come together in an overlap of smooth skin and gyrating hips directly in front of Quinn's table, grasping at each other and thrusting their chests dramatically to their own rhythm in the neon lights. Yeah, Dirty Deeds seems like an appropriate song choice, Quinn thinks, entranced by the well placed winks and lingering lip licking before her. As they break into the chorus, the spotlight hits the singer as the other girls lay into her, sliding their hands into her hair and around her thighs, pulling at the skin tight bodice on her torso.

Quinn chokes.

She knows those brown eyes. Sputtering, the heat that's been rising to her face plummets into her pelvis.

Rachel Berry in the flesh.

Actually, a lot of Rachel Berry flesh.

Quinn's eyes widen as Rachel drags her fingers across her collarbones, a drop of sweat slowly trailing down her neck and into her cleavage. That should not be sexy, Quinn thinks, then Rachel turns, and their eyes meet, her's widening just slightly. The tickle in her stomach does a full belly flop as Rachel struts down the stairs with an eyebrow raised, never one to pass up a challenge, singing with haughty sex appeal as she stares her down.

Quinn hears Santana mutter something about treasure trails, but the lacy purple corset heading her direction has her other senses shutting down. Rachel winks, working the room, spinning and flipping her hair to the music, running her hands down her body slowly. Quinn stops breathing entirely as Rachel spreads her feet next to her chair, popping her hip towards Quinn before plopping down in her lap. She crosses her legs with grace as she wraps an arm around Quinn, growling the chorus close to her ear.

 

_..dirty deeds and they're done dirt cheap.._

Quinn knows the whole room probably thinks this is part of the show, but when Rachel runs a manicured finger down Quinn's flushed neck and over the swell of her breast with a smirk, Quinn can't help the goofy smile that follows. Rachel grins and for a moment, all Quinn can see are the deep brown eyes looking into hers, and then the guitar solo starts and Rachel is peeling herself off her lap and strutting back towards the stage. Quinn wheezes a little as she follows the sway of Rachel's leather clad hips, and Santana chuckles.

Burlesque definitely did not prepare her for this.

The song wraps up and the dancers exit the stage to thunderous applause, Santana pushing her drink towards the blonde with a smirk.

"Jesus Quinn, lock it in."

Holy Lord, Rachel Berry was in her lap. Slamming back the drink, Quinn wipes her mouth as the piano player comes back out to play.

"I didn't know Berry did this."

Santana shrugs and sips her own drink, settling back in her chair for act two.

"Brittany's mentioned her a few times. I thought it was the Broadway show, not the Burlesque one that they had been working on together, but I guess Berry hasn't done Broadway for a long time. Actually, I don't think she's done anything for a long time." She adds, looking up thoughtfully.

Clearing her throat, Quinn crosses her legs. Fuck me, she thinks. Of all the places to run into that girl, did she have to be doing the sexiest thing ever?

"I wonder why she stopped."

"Yeah I bet curiosity is what's got you all pink in the gills." Santana chuckles, chewing on some ice.

"What? I just thought Broadway was her thing."

"My ass, Q."

"Whatever S. I'm going to the bathroom."

"Mhm," she nods, pulling the chair out of Quinn's way. "While you're in there, try to borrow some dignity to bring back with you."

* * *

Backstage at the Black Cat is almost as packed as the house, only with feathers and sequins and lots of leggy blonde girls. Thanking God she wore leather pants, Quinn slips off her jacket, tousles her hair, and focuses on blending in with her lacy tank top. She ducks behind a wardrobe rack as Brittany skips by, chatting with another dancer about a banana that spoke to her in a dream. Laughing quietly, Quinn slips past the others and walks with purpose towards the room they had all exited, marked CAST with a giant gold star.

Some opportunities are not meant to be passed up. And with this kind of inspiration, the story could practically write itself. …

_The music is live, the drinks are juicy, and this club has some pretty kitties of it's own to boot. Imagine a world where Broadway professionals get creative freedom to play. Now add glitter. This, my friends, is the stuff of dreams…_

Sure, she hasn't talked to Rachel in seven years, but clearly, Rachel recognized her. And maybe she kind of hoped she more than just remembers her.

The sheer fabric hanging from the ceiling and mediocre lighting gives the cast room a Middle Eastern feel. Gliding between the pink and gold silks, the room is quiet, but didn't quite feel uninhabited. She pats herself on the back for remembering that Rachel likes to be the last person to leave. Sure enough, as Quinn steps through a fiery red curtain she's met with a humming Rachel, bare legs folded under her as she removes her make up in a black button up shirt.

She's beautiful.

She jumps, dropping her cloth as her brown eyes meet hazel in the mirror.

"Quinn?"

Feeling suddenly out of place, Quinn knots her hands together, but finds that even more awkward, so she settles for crossing one over her stomach and wrapping her other in a strand of her hair.

Totally cool, Quinn.

"Hey."

Rachel turns on her chair to face the blonde, wrapping the open shirt around her, as Quinn's cheeks burn as red as the intimates Rachel's covering.

"I'm sorry for just stopping in, I.. Well. I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed your show."

Rachel watches her for a second then chuckles knowingly, smirking as she stands. Her feet pad across the floor towards Quinn, the flaps of her shirt opening to fully display her assets in the dim room light. Quinn gulps visibly, and focuses entirely on maintaining eye contact, suddenly very aware of how alone they are.

This is not the Rachel she remembers.

_…The hard hitters are here in folds. Once Broadway extraordinaire Rachel Berry has found her way back home to the stage again, charming the crowd to its feet with a sexy heart stopper of an opening number doused in smoky neon lights. Was this the calling she had been looking for all along? One would think, as the dark haired diva shows a side of her singing yet unknown to the entertainment world, and a whole lot of leg along with it…_

"It would seem that a lot has changed since high school by what Brittany has told me." She says, reaching past Quinn to pick up a hanger for her stage clothes, the soft flesh of her arm barely brushing against Quinn's. "For both of us."

Quinn follows the brunette with her eyes as she moves across the room to hang the hanger on a rack, compelled by the calm confidence radiating off her olive skin. "What all did she say?"

"Oh." Rachel rolls up the sleeves on her shirt and turns back towards the blonde. "I'd say she's told me enough, Quinn."

Quinn gulps as Rachel steps slowly into her personal space. She's not touching her, but she wishes she was, her skin practically dancing with desire. Rachel tips her head up and studies Quinn's face for a moment, her eyes asking more questions than the one she speaks softly between them.

"What part of the show did you like best, exactly?"

Quinn swallows, ignoring the sweaty palms and weak knees left in the wake of Rachel's breath tickling across her open collar bone. It's now or never Fabray.

"Honestly." She says, slipping a hand into Rachel's shirt and resting it less than innocently around her hip. "My favorite part has always been you."

Rachel's eyes widen slightly. Quinn hears her breath catch and takes the moment to tug her closer, chest to chest, as she caresses the small of her back with whispering fingertips.

"You're so talented, Rachel."

"Thank you Quinn," She says, her fingers threading loosely through Quinn's hair as she stands, encircled in the blonde's arms. Quinn watches her brown eyes as they follow the trail of her fingers, caught for a moment in how dangerously deep they are, and the tiny flickers of emotion that flash across them.

Confidence.

Anxiety.

Regret.

Hope.

And settling, finally, on a shade Quinn would have recognized from across the room, let alone in the few inches between them.

Want.

Quinn's heart quickens as Rachel's hands slip through the tips of her hair and push firmly against her shoulders, guiding her onto a chair she hadn't noticed behind her.

Quinn tries to catch the groan before it slips past her lips, but it's too late. The surprise of Rachel's force arouses her, and she's pleasantly rewarded with a soft blush that chases down Rachel's cheeks at the realization, her hooded eyes watching Quinn as she stands over her.

"I have to say," she adds, pulling her brown hair loosely over her shoulder. Lowering a toned thigh on either side of Quinn's in the chair, she straddles her lap, her shirt sliding to the floor before her arms come to rest lazily around the blonde's neck. A small smile plays across her lips. Quinn can almost hear her heart beat in the stillness of the room. She's swallowed by the openness in Rachel's eyes, the glowing skin she's traveled so many times in her mind hovering just above legs.

"I was rather comfortable in your lap out there."

Her fingers are in Rachel's hair before the last word falls from her lips, crashing their mouths together. They groan into each other, melting into hot breath and firm strokes, a tracing tongue and nibbling teeth. Quinn's hands slide down Rachel's neck, her nails scraping down her naked spine and slipping under the delicate lace covering her butt. She squeezes tight, lifting her to press her firmly against her stomach as Rachel moans openly into her mouth, forcing her tongue past Quinn's teeth.

Quinn sighs into the kiss as Rachel's chest brushes gently against her own, her taut nipples like little pebbles stretching through the lace of her bra. The warm weight of her full bottom fills Quinn's hands comfortably, almost too much with the added pleasure of the long dancer's legs wrapping around her waist. When she feels the heat pressing against her belly button, soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt, she's afraid her heart may beat right out of her chest. She notices her own excitement as Rachel wraps her fingers in her hair and yanks hard, tearing their lips apart. With a throaty growl, she nibbles a trail up Quinn's jaw before tracing the length of her throat with a soft tongue.

Sweet Rachel Berry.

"Rach." She whispers, thrusting automatically towards the arousal resting against her belly, so close to her own. A breath hisses between her teeth at the neediness of Rachel's lips against her pulse point, the low hum of pleasure she releases as Quinn slides her hands down the backs of her smooth thighs. Rachel bites into the curve of her shoulder, her nipples brushing delicately against the hard peaks in Quinn's tank top. She can only grasp one thought with Rachel's teeth tugging at her earlobe.

This is heaven.

"Rachel…" And then, the heat is gone, and slowly opening her eyes, Quinn barely catches a flick of brown stealing between the sheer curtains towards the door. Trembling slightly, she takes a deep breath.

"Jesus Christ."

Quinn flexes her hands looking into the mirror Rachel had been using, the clear proof that she hadn't imagined the encounter in the faint circular bruising already surfacing on the curve of her shoulder. Rachel Berry bit me! Smiling to herself, she leans closer to the mirror and inspects it, then pulls her hair hastily over the spot before turning to follow Rachel's lead.

She had no idea what just happened, or why, or where Rachel was now, or how she could just storm out on something she was pretty sure her shirt proved they both wanted, even if it was too fast. Did she even have clothes on when she left? She did always like to make dramatic exits. Quinn exhales shakily, stepping back out into the house audience. That was a little too much for even her.

As she settles back into her chair next to a curious looking Santana, she receives a big hello hug from Brittany and grins.

Inspiration, indeed.

_…Whether you believe in the superstitions or not, this is one path that's meant to be crossed, again and again. Black Cat is officially out of the bag, and the best and brightest the city has to offer, hands down._

* * *

 


	2. In the still of the night

So stupid, Rachel thinks, ripping a skirt off the costume rack and stepping into it quickly. Of all the times for Quinn Fabray, of all the people… she shakes her head, tucking in the shirt she had shimmied on from the floor of the cast room in her quick exodus. She gives a wave to the backstage crew and exits out the side door, her heels echoing on the dark concrete of the back alley as she races to put distance between her and the blonde.

Why was Quinn even here?

She rakes her fingers through her hair, trying not to remember how much better it felt when Quinn had done the same as she unlocks her car and groans loudly, throwing her purse to the passenger's side. Slamming the door shut, she takes a deep breath and drums her fingers against the steering wheel.

She was probably just there to watch Brittany.

Rachel smirks to herself, remembering the shocked look on Quinn's face when the first spotlight came on tonight, the way her eyes burned through her, watching her every move. She had a hard time hiding her own shock really, and will probably get an ear full on Monday about the point of practicing choreography if she's just going to walk off the stage anyway. Once she saw Quinn, all she could think about was touching her.

Sighing, she starts her car and backs out of her spot, pulling out of the alley and into traffic.

And boy did she touch her. How cliché. Of course Rachel Berry's most epic unrequited love would not only be present at her grand but totally secret reappearance on stage, she would also come backstage and tell her everything she's ever dreamed of hearing. She didn't even know that Rachel's gay. What are the odds? The thought of it actually being real, it just… it couldn't be. Quinn pushing her away once she realized what was happening, that would be real. Rachel couldn't bear it; better a quick escape with some dignity over being shoved onto the floor.

Switching lanes, she slaps her palm to her forehead.

But what if it was real? She recalls the faint drum of hope that began a few weeks ago when she and Brittany were stretching before practice and Santana called. It's not that she tried to overhear, but when Brittany said Quinn needed to get laid, Rachel didn't necessarily stop trying to hear either. Santana's comment that Quinn was too busy to find a girl echoed in her head for days. A girl. A girl! It was all just too much really. She was already in stress meltdown over deciding to perform tonight knowing she shouldn't, but the thought of Quinn not only liking a girl, but liking her! She couldn't even wrap her brain around it.

Her and Quinn. Quinn and Her. Sighing, Rachel flips on the radio and let's the quiet drone of NPR settle her mind.

Here she is worrying about what Quinn thinks of her when she should be worrying about whether she'll still be around to be thought of. Typical Rachel. When she had scoffed at her Dad earlier with a what's the worst that could happen over performing again, well, this isn't exactly what she had had in mind, but yeah. Having a chance with the girl she's always wanted at a time in her life when she's supposed to be a total shut in, that may actually qualify as torture. It's just got to be. She'd almost rather have the chasing bullets she'd originally been afraid of.

Rachel smiles to herself, pulling into her parking garage and shutting off the headlights, thoughts of Quinn's warm lips on her own, the sweet taste of her, still tingling under her skin. For years and years she had wondered, and now she finally knew exactly what Quinn Fabray felt like.

Opening her car door, she grabs her purse and starts towards the stairwell to her apartment, glancing over her shoulder and humming quietly to herself.

Bullets or not, it was so worth it.

* * *

 

"So let me get this straight," Quinn starts, pouring more syrup over her pancakes. "She just showed up during one of your practices one day and asked if she could join? I mean, of course they're going to say yes. She's Rachel Berry!"

Brittany chews thoughtfully, sliding a piece of fruit around on her plate with a fork. The wake of Rachel storming out of the cast room had left Quinn with more questions than answers, and seeing as she hadn't seen or talked to the girl in years, that's a lot of questions.

"Well, she hasn't been Rachel Berry for a long time, Quinn. She's only Rachel Berry when she's on Broadway. So, she really just came as Rachel. Or maybe Rach. Or Sue Ellen. I'm not sure what she goes by when she's not Rachel Berry."

Santana wraps her arm around Brittany's shoulder and gives it a squeeze, smiling quietly at her as she finishes her thought. Quinn warms at the gesture. It must be nice to find a whole that speaks volumes as wordlessly as these two. Stuffing in another forkful of breakfast, she continues, reaching for the morning paper.

"I just think it's weird that she pretty much disappeared from the face of the Earth and then just shows up when this club opens."

"Q. Don't pound Brittany with your reporter questions. Go find Berry if you need answers." Santana says pointedly, stealing the rest of Quinn's pancake from her plate. "Just because you're married to your job does not mean you get to bring it to our table."

"I don't mind," Brittany says, reaching over Santana's arm to cut the pancake for her. "Quinn's good at what she does, even if she never does anything else besides it." Setting down her fork, she smiles. "And if you want Rachel's number, I can give you that. It came to me in a dream." Her eyes steal to the bowl of bananas at the end of the table as Quinn stifles a giggle, flipping to the entertainment pages.

"Thank you for the offer Brittany, but I'm not going to bug her. If it's meant to happen it will. And clearly she wants to be out of the public eye. I'm sure talking to a magazine writer is probably not high on her to-do list."

Santana pecks Brittany on the cheek as she globs more syrup on her plate, turning a raised eyebrow towards Quinn.

"Judging by the fang marks on your shoulder, I'd say a magazine writer may not be on her to-do list, but Quinn Fabray definitely is."

* * *

 

_"Okay Oliver I'll see you tomorrow then. Good show tonight! Goodbye everyone!" Rachel beams as she waves at the cast, lounging around tables in the back office. Another successful performance under her belt and she's feeling as light as a cloud as she walks out the theater doors and towards home. Mamma Mia has been her favorite production so far; so good, in fact, she's almost depressed that there's only one show left this season. Tipping her head at the cab driver who always waits for her, he rolls down the window. His burly Boston accent cuts through the noise of the unusually warm night settling down on the Broadway district._

_"Hey sweetheart, you ready to head home?"_

_Leaning her head into the passenger window, Rachel smiles and waves him off. "I think I'll walk tonight, Ralph. It's just too nice not to."_

_"More power to ya, kid," he chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm telling ya this warm weather means we're going to have one hell of a storm real soon. Ya just don't get this in March, ya know?"_

_Rachel pats the window sill lightly as she turns to walk down the street, calling over her shoulder. "Well, then we better get out and enjoy it now! Have a good night, Ralph!"_

_"You too, sweetheart. Be safe."_

_The cab drives away as Rachel turns the corner, the bright lights of Broadway fading behind her. It always surprises her, how friendly New Yorkers are, after everyone in Ohio had told her for years she'd never find a home here. Laughing to herself, she adjusts the purse on her shoulder and looks both ways before jay walking to the other side. Here she is with a cab driver who always makes sure she gets home in one piece. Real animals, alright._

_Browsing the window of the boutiques as she passes them, Rachel hums quietly to herself, unbuttoning her coat as she goes. She definitely overdressed for sixty degrees. Cutting across the street again, she sighs softly, the glow of the tower she calls home lighting the sidewalk just a block away. Picking up her pace a little, she looks up towards the stars, which she's sure are still up there, even if she can't see them. That's one part of Ohio she'll always miss._

_A scream in the alley to Rachel's left rips her from her thoughts, her eyes immediately searching for the source. A woman stands with her back against the wall, her clothes soaked to the bone. She trembles against the brick as a man digs a finger into her chest, his face dark with anger. She glances towards her tower. Maybe security is out already and she can flag them down. As she raises her hand and inhales to call towards the building, she hears the strike of a match and a deep chuckle, the sour smell of sulfur burning her nostrils as she turns back._

_Rachel's breath steals from her chest at the sound of his voice, gnarled and twisted like old bark._

_"You know what happens to rats, Mel?"_

_The man's spit hits the woman right before the match does._

_"They burn."_

_Rachel watches in horror as the woman crumples to the ground, their wide eyes meeting for a brief moment before her face melts into the flames._

_She doesn't realize the sting in her lungs is from screaming until the man is staring at her, her face perfectly illuminated in the street lights. Turning towards her home she runs for all she's worth, the hollow sound of her terror still echoing in her ears._

_That must have been gasoline. That's why her clothes were so wet. She must have known what was coming the whole time._

_Over her whimpering she hears the steady fall of heavy feet getting closer._

Rachel wrenches forward in bed, sheets wrapped tightly around her legs. Kicking them away, she stumbles to the bathroom and falls on her knees in front of the toilet, retching until her stomach is empty, her tears dripping into the water below. Wiping the sweaty bangs off her forehead, she sets back against the bathtub and lays her head against the rim.

Eight months and still she can see it as if it happened yesterday. Every night she closes her eyes and meets Melanie Michael's terrified stare. She can't even remember the last time she slept for more than two hours. Rachel sighs, rolling her neck and rubbing her eyes.

After the trial she would rest.

After the trial her contract would be over, she could stop hiding and go back to Broadway.

After the trial, Vincent Maroney's pounding feet would finally stop echoing in her mind.

* * *

 

_"Q. The interest in your Black Cat feature has been through the roof. I want a full insider on the place; pictures, interviews, behind the scene footage, the whole---actually that's a great idea. Let's make it a video. You're going viral, Q. I'll see you on Monday."_

* * *

 

Whistling, Quinn steps off the elevator, tucking the newspaper under her arm as she grabs her mug from the rack above the office coffee corner. The voicemail from her boss had lit a fire in her, intrigued by the chance to do something no magazine had attempted yet. Plus she would be behind a camera lens, which was a step in the right direction. Blowing over the rim of her mug, she takes a quick sip, hums in satisfaction, and turns towards her office.

The impending chance of meeting with Rachel Berry in her near future didn't hurt her mood either. There was no denying the existence of the hot rustle in her heart for Rachel. Hell, she remembers the first time she'd noticed it. She had been running an article into a meeting as the editors discussed Broadway's up and coming and, low and behold, there was Rachel, blown up on the projector screen belting her lungs out. Quinn's chest had ached in such a way she wondered how she had gone on living so long without her, and just like that the final puzzle piece slipped into place. She adores Rachel Berry, she always had; it just took not having her anymore to figure it out.

After the other night, she couldn't help but think that maybe she could do something about that now.

Flipping the hair out of her face, Quinn bypasses her office, dropping her bag inside the door and, with a big swig of coffee, turns into her boss's office at the end of the hall. Leaning against the door frame, she eyes the gold plaque with the name Nikki Malone etched into it. She'd always wondered why her boss hated being addressed by her name, but knowing how she liked things crisp and efficient, she figured "boss" just fit the bill.

"Morning chief."

"Quinn. Just the girl I was looking for. You get my message?"

"I did. What's the plan of attack?"

"I left a video camera on your desk this morning. Head down to the club--the owners know you're coming. I want you to live and breathe that place this week. If we're going to take the dive into online video first, we've got to set a precedent. Make me laugh, make me cry, whole nine yards. Got it?"

"Got it. Anything else?"

"Nope," Nikki says with a curt nod. "Now get out of my face."

Quinn chuckles as she makes her way back to her office, grabbing the camera, and heads back to the elevators. Her boss is always right down to business, and it suits them both just fine. In fact, several people around the office have commented that they are almost too similar, but hey. Quinn figures there are probably worse people she could take after.

Nodding to the front door man, she buttons her coat against the cool wind of the coming fall and hails a taxi, smiling as she rattles off the address to Black Cat from memory like it's an old friend.

And maybe, someday, if things went like she wanted, it would be.

For now, she was content with just letting the adventure begin.


	3. Turning Tables

Rachel clicks to the next screen, her face frozen in shock.

Ohhh this is not good.

The muffled ring of a cell phone tucked in the corner cabinet agrees. Swallowing, Rachel opens the drawer slowly, pulling out the phone and grimacing as she sets it against her ear.

"Hello?"

"What was the deal, Rachel."

Sighing, Rachel scrolls to the bottom of the screen, studying the _Q. Fabray_ written under the screen shot of her smiling behind a microphone.

"I didn't know press would be there."

"Doesn't matter," the man says. Rachel can practically see him, sitting at his desk surrounded by paperwork, his fingers pressing into his temples. "You signed a contract and you broke it. You have to be removed. We're coming to get you tonight so pack a bag."

Rachel huffs, crossing her arms at the table. Her dads, the mob, now the Witness Protection Program... she's so tired of everyone else getting a say except for her. No. They're saving her life blah, blah, blah, but if she's not living, what's the point?

"Look, I've done a fine job of keeping myself perfectly safe. I'm not living in a box for the next four weeks. I'm just not. So you can come to terms with that in your own time."

His frustrated sigh echoes over the phone line for a solid minute. This guy must have taken lessons from her parents, Rachel thinks, cringing as she clicks to the next screen and more pictures of her pop up. Well, Quinn is very talented at least, even if she unknowingly put Rachel's life at risk.

"Rachel you realize as the trial gets closer, Maroney is going to put a lot more effort into finding you. You're the only person left to testify against him. That means, you're all he has to do in the next month. That's it. One wrong turn and you're as good as dead."

Closing her laptop, Rachel sips her tea. Touche, good sir.

"What if, if anything appears even remotely out of the ordinary, I use this handy emergency cell you got me and call you immediately. You're the government. I have faith you'll get there in a timely manner."

"And if I disagree?"

"Good luck finding me. I took the tracker out of this phone six months ago. It's probably washed all the way to England by now."

Rachel bites back a laugh as she hears papers crumple together on the other end.

"Fine. But word to the wise, they've got a connection on you now, Rachel. They may not know exactly where you are, but they have a start. Don't go back to that club and for God's sake stay away from that reporter. The last thing I need is your face in magazines."

With that, the line goes dead and Rachel sets the phone down on the table. That went well. The cell beeps, one new text message. Opening it, Rachel sighs tiredly.

_Disappear for one more month. It's all I ask._

One month without Quinn? It's...possible, she supposes, though it certainly wouldn't be easy. Plus she did promise Brittany she would do this Friday's show with her... she'd just have to call her and get out of it. Finishing off her tea, she opens her laptop again and pulls up solitaire.

One more month of being a hermit. Fantastic.

At least she looked good in print. 　

* * *

 

"Quinn Fabray?"

"Good morning," Quinn says, shaking the hand of the approaching woman. Her dark brown hair had started to gray, but the way that she flowed across the room to her, even in an empty bar, echoed of a life spent on stage. Must be one of the owners, Quinn thought, tucking a loose hair behind her ear.

"And to you." She gestures towards a table. "I'm Patti and this..." she says, spreading her arms towards the flowing fabrics and mirrors, the low lit bar and puttering musicians in the corner, "...is my kingdom. Well, half mine." She winks. "It sounds like you're going to get to know it very well in the next week."

"I hope so," Quinn says, setting the video gear down on the table as she adjusts the strap of the camera around her neck. "I don't want to put anyone out or be in the way. I'm really just hoping to get a... well, a real taste of what this place has to offer."

Patti nods, raising a mug to her lip and sipping.

"I read your editorial online and I've got to say, if anyone is going to look in all our dark corners, I'm glad it's you. I like your style. It could go a long way around here, if that's something you're ever interested in."

Flushing, Quinn grins and ducks her head.

"Thank you, Patti, that means a lot. You know it's kind of rare for me to find something that really gets my juices flowing, so I'm hoping to really make something you'll be proud of in the end."

"Oh, I have no doubt," she says, patting the top of Quinn's hand. "You are free to do whatever you need to do here, Quinn. You come and go as you please, and if you have any questions or have trouble with anyone, just let me know. Sound good?"

"Sound perfect, Patti. Thanks for being so generous."

"Hey, you just do what you do, and we'll both win." She adds, picking up her mug and standing. "If you want to start today, you're more than welcome to. Everyone in house knows why you're here and is super excited... and since these are mostly performers, consider this your warning: they're not camera shy."

Chucking, she reaches to shake Patti's hand.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Grabbing her equipment, she follows her towards the stage, where morning practice is already underway. Quinn smiles at Brittany, who waves at her while sinking into a split. Setting her video camera to record rehearsal from a tripod, she moves to the front of the stage, letting her photographer's eye get inspired.

"Alright let's run the first act with changes, ladies. Where's Rachel?"

"Here!"

A rush of brown hair speeds onto the stage, tossing a bag and a coat on its way. Rachel swipes the hair off her face and, slightly out of breath, her rosy cheeks break into a grin at center stage.

"Sorry, Patti. Traffic."

Patti taps a clipboard on a table and clears her throat, moving glasses from the top of her head onto her nose.

"This time only. Take five to stretch."

Rachel nods and sets her mike down, falling into a stretch next to Brittany. As she leans down to wrap her hands around her ankle her eyes catch Quinn's and avert quickly back to Brittany. Quinn shakes her head, snapping a picture of the two huddled together.

Rachel wouldn't ignore her on purpose. Would she?

As the girls line up for the new opener she settles onto a table top to get better lighting, but the song starts, hips gyrate, and she forgets the camera anyway, her mouth hanging open instead.

"Stop, stop!" Patti calls, waving off the music. "Brittany when you get to Lhana I want you to grope her, got it?"

Quinn chuckles at Brittany's face, clearly thinking about how Santana is going to react to that on Friday.

"This isn't flashlight tag girls. We get to touch. Again from the top."

The music restarts, the girls begin again, and all thoughts of Santana slip from her mind. As the lights shift to red and Rachel belts out the opening lyrics, Quinn captures it in her lens, bobbing her head to the beat. Before she knows it rehearsal is over and Rachel's a blur again, shooting out the back door like her shoes are on fire. Slipping her camera off her neck, Quinn motions towards the door when a dancer comes down to sit on the stage edge.

"Where's she going?"

The dancer shrugs, sipping her water bottle.

"I don't think she's supposed to even be here anymore, but Brittany talked her into doing one more show. So, she maybe she's got other commitments."

That could be, Quinn thinks, but she finds it interesting that Rachel's new behavior showed up the same day as her. Quinn chats with the girl while she finishes her water, slipping the finished roll out of her camera and resetting a new one. What Rachel Berry does with her days may be a mystery, but she does know one thing for sure. She's totally gonna need more film.

* * *

 

Rachel huffs as she attempts to get her hair just right for the third time. _For goodness sake, Berry, it's a ponytail, just do it!_ Checking the clock she sighs, resigning to the sloppy mess on top her head rather than being late to practice for a second time. Patti is forgiving, but not that forgiving. Throwing her oversized handbag on her shoulder, Rachel locks her front door and heads for the steps. If she took the subway she could get there just a minute before rehearsal began, whereby avoiding all possible moments to be confronted by one Quinn Fabray. Sure, she would get no warm up, again. But sacrifices for the sake of...sanity... had to be made.

Who's she joking? The last few days had been pure hell. Flipping up her hood, she takes the steps down to the subway. Is hiding behind curtains and slipping through back alley doors a little creepy? Sure. Does it do anything to help with the way the other dancers are already weird around her, curious as to where she's been the last few months? Not one bit. But if it means she fulfills her duties to Brittany AND avoids getting anymore features from the blonde she'd rather be...fulfilling... well then so be it. At least Quinn's next work won't be published until Saturday. By then her commitment with the club will be complete and she can be back in hiding before the Maroney's even read it-- as if they spend all their free time perusing women's lifestyle magazines anyway.

Rachel smiles at the thought of Quinn, her finger poised over the snap button of her camera, eyebrows knitted in concentration, studying the girls in the light. Her passion for her work inspired Rachel almost as much as the calm confidence that came over the blonde as she fluttered about the bar, capturing her ideas on film. Sitting on the cold hard bench of the subway, Rachel's insides tickle at what it feels like, being on the opposite end of that calculating look, the subject of the hazel eyes behind that lens. There is so much to Quinn, so much more than the attraction she feels to her physically.

Of course if she chases those feelings, if she lets them bloom like she knows they will, she's really only hurting Quinn in the long run. She's not even supposed to leave her apartment, how is she supposed to court ideas of a relationship. Even if Maroney is in jail, would she ever really be safe?

The best thing she can do for her is walk away. Run away even, to keep Quinn out of harm's way.

Stepping off the subway at her stop, Rachel shoulders her bag again and starts towards the stairs up to the street, the quick look over her shoulder to check for followers a well trained habit.

Now she finally had a chance with Quinn, and she would have to let it slip through her fingers again.

Pulling open the door to the Black Cat, the blonde in question stands on the other side, apparently on her way out. Rachel chuckles quietly and steps aside, holding the door open for the girl.

"Afternoon, Quinn."

"Hey, Rach." She smiles, squeezing the girl's arm as she turns back towards the parking lot. Rachel's skin burns where her fingers brushed. Pulling the door shut behind her, she walks through the dark to the stage and sets her stuff down, turning to take in the empty house.

Slipping into a chair, she sighs. When it comes right down to it, could she live with letting go? Maybe it was a great risk... but maybe it's worth it. The steady thump against her ribs when Quinn enters through the front carrying an armful of equipment seems to her, an answer enough. 　

* * *

 

For Quinn to say she was a little disappointed would be an understatement. Three days at the Black Cat and she had yet to catch more than a glimpse of Rachel outside of her time on stage. It was to the point where Quinn was pretty convinced she'd have to actually join the cast in order to talk to the girl, even if it was just about choreography. Sighing to herself, she follows Brittany and a few other girls through the wardrobe racks backstage, videotaping the dancers as they gave her the "official" tour.

"So is there a certain order to this or..?" Quinn says, flipping through a few outfits. The girls nod as Brittany holds a satin vest up against her.

"Ear bling, ring, glittery thing, boa, boots, fishnet stocking." Quinn laughs, nodding her head, and snapping a quick picture of Brittany posing with a crown. Between her camera and the video, she was going to have enough footage to do ten documentaries and five magazine spreads.

As the dancers finish introducing her to their costume methods, Quinn continues through the back stage, filming the crew as they build props to be used in new songs for the weekend. A couple wink at her and she smiles shamelessly, waving them away from behind the lens. One morning session together and she'd been shooting down their requests for drinks and dinner ever since. As she spins the camera slowly to catch all the action, the gold star of the cast room catches her eye and she blushes at the thought of her last visit there.

Well, why not. If she couldn't see Rachel, at least she could re-live the memory.

She enters the room, running her fingers along the silky fabrics, the bright colors blending and overlapping on the screen. Panning out, she pushes through the final red sheer and turns a sweeping circle in the room, commentating under her breath.

"And this is where the magic happens... Here we have the make-up mirrors, where Rachel curls her pretty hair. And here we have the accessories, which never shine quite as bright as Rachel does. And here we have the cushion corner, where Rachel lays her pretty head."

"And where does Quinn lay her pretty head?"

Quinn closes her eyes, gasping at the unexpected husk of Rachel's voice so close, the sudden flood of warmth between her thighs. This room is definitely starting to be her favorite. She sighs as the heat of Rachel's body moves in behind hers, pressing her front to Quinn's back, and all feelings of confusion from the last few days are suddenly forgotten.

"Rach—"

"Shh.." Rachel starts, running her fingers down Quinn's forearms, wrapping her hand around the camera, and tossing it softly towards a chair of boas.

"I'm starting to think you come with the room, Quinn." Trailing her hands up Quinn's arms and down her spine, she wraps her fingers around her hip bones and pulls her back flush against her chest. Quinn whimpers weakly, the sound producing a quick gust of breath against her shoulder blade as Rachel laughs, then presses a kiss there. "I'm also starting to think you wouldn't mind that either."

Quinn squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to combust with the pressure of Rachel's fingers digging into her hips. She's not sure what she had expected all these years, but the Rachel she's met in private is exactly as confident and driven as the public Rachel, and it's unbelievably sexy. Quinn's always prided herself in being the girl who doesn't get pushed around, but as Rachel's fingertips trace the skin along the waist of her jeans, she thinks... change can be good.

"I've been thinking about you," Quinn says quietly, over her shoulder. She catches a glimpse of Rachel's dark hair before it disappears out of view, punctuated with the quick nip of teeth at the bottom of her shoulder blade. "I was looking for you all morning."

She also kind of thought Rachel would be a talker, which is apparently not the case.

Quinn reaches for Rachel's wandering hands, pulling them softly together in her own in front of her belly button to appraise them. She runs her thumbs along the smooth olive skin as she feels Rachel rest her forehead against her spine. The brunette's whisper breaks the silence.

"I've thought of you forever."

Her thumbs still. Rachel hums a low easy note as Quinn pulls her around her torso, stopping her when they're face to face.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She says, cupping her hand against Rachel's cheek. She shrugs, turning her head to press a kiss to her open palm, her brown eyes meeting Quinn's without hesitation.

"I'd rather show you."

Tipping up on her toes, Rachel reaches to meet Quinn, and when she does, the kiss is slow and seeking, steady and sure in a way that makes Quinn's stomach flutter with expectation. Smiling into the kiss, her knees weaken as she feels Rachel do the same, the thought of her being as happy as she is right now almost too good to be true.

"Sweet God my retinas. Brittany! BRITTANY! I'm blind!"

Quinn tears her lips from Rachel's, turning to find Santana standing stock still with a look of horror on her face.

"Isn't there a sign you could put on the door?! Don't enter on fear of death?" Santana is almost as pale as Quinn when Brittany barges through the hanging sheers, wrapping Santana in a bear hug.

"It's okay Santana, I've got you! It's Brittany, don't punch!"

Quinn's lip quirks at Rachel's low chuckle behind her.

"Sorry Santana. I thought everyone was out of here for the day. I was just doing some filming." S

antana holds a hand up, her eyes closing as she pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Please God, woman, do not tell me about you and Berry's home movies."

Brittany beams as she tilts her head against Santana's shoulder.

"Ohhhh I like home movies! Remember that one we watched of you when you were little San? You were so cute!"

"That was Paranormal Activity, B, not a home movie."

Quinn snickers as Rachel's silent laughter vibrates against her back. Santana sighs, defeated, and slips an arm around Brittany's waist.

"Can we please just go home so I can wash my eyes with bleach?"

Brittany kisses her cheek and tugs her arm, leading the two out of the room.

"Let's stop and get ice cream on the way. Bye Quinn, Bye Rachel!"

The two wave back as they leave, the draping fabric slipping softly back into place.

"Well," Quinn starts, turning to wrap Rachel in a hug. "That could have gone... less dramatically."

Rachel presses a kiss to her neck and leans into her embrace, still chuckling.

"I hope Brittany doesn't actually get her bleach when they get home. Santana checks that stuff, right?"

Quinn smiles, breaking away from Rachel to pick up her camera, then holds out an arm for her to hold.

"She does," she says, holding back the first sheer for Rachel to walk through. "She'll find it adorable if Brittany does get her bleach actually. I've learned to just casually sniff everything before I put it in my mouth at their place... for several reasons."

Rachel's eyebrows furrow as they exit the cast room side by side, the crew and dancers following the pair with their eyes as they walk towards the exit.

"I don't want to know, do I..."

Quinn pulls her closer as she pushes open the back door, chuckling as the last dreads of sunset filter brilliantly across the sky.

"You definitely don't want to know." 　

* * *

 

Rachel waves fondly to Quinn as she closes her door, flipping on the radio as she starts the car and waits for it to warm up. She knows she should have just stayed away from "that reporter," but a girl can only do so much, especially when they happen upon their favorite blonde being particularly adorable. The way Quinn moved to stand between her and Santana was enough evidence. Quinn did like her and she almost seemed nervous that Rachel didn't feel the same way. Rachel laughs at the thought, putting her car into reverse and backing out of her space.

How could anyone not like Quinn?

She would just have to come to terms. If she can't stay away from Quinn, she sure as hell better protect her. Maybe she should avoid her when everyone else is around… tactical meetings?

Yes, that could be the answer. If the mob came for her that's one thing, but if they went after Quinn, she'd never forgive herself. She and Quinn would have to talk...well, about everything...but for now, she could at least see her in private.

Pulling into traffic, she never notices the black SUV accelerating along behind her in the rear view mirror. 　

* * *

 

Quinn purses her lips, swiping a loose blonde hair off her forehead as she leans over the processing tray. Poking the photo with a pair of tweezers, the light outline of Brittany, her leg propped up on a chair, smiles back at her. Chuckling, she pulls the photo and hangs it next to the others in the lab, glancing at the clock. She always does her best work in the studio at night, so she's forever grateful that Boss gave her the security code a few years ago. Of course, a few more hours and she may as well have packed a bag for work tomorrow… well, today. She hadn't realized exactly how much media she has on the Black Cat, let alone how in the world she's going to edit her video, pick out the magazine layout, and finish the actual article by Friday.

Thirty hours. Sure that's enough time. Sigh.

Sipping thoughtfully at her coffee, Quinn walks the length of the room, considering her finished photographs. There's some good stuff here, she thinks, tilting her head to the side at a particularly cute one of Rachel and Brittany together on stage. Enough stuff for her to put together a great layout for the magazine, and have a few leftover for other projects as well. Lifting a black and white of Rachel looking thoughtfully at her, reflected in a makeup mirror, Quinn smiles and stacks it off to the side.

Maybe there's a few she'll have to keep for herself as well.

Pulling her laptop up onto the work desk, Quinn powers it on and cracks her knuckles. 3:48 AM. If she can get the first few minutes of footage together on the video while her pictures finish developing, she may just make that Friday deadline yet. 　

* * *

 

_Morning sun slants through the vertical blinds, the only light dispersing in the hazy room. The ceiling fan circles lazily, its chain clinking with each revolution. He clears his throat, lifting the cigar from an ashtray to his lips, blowing the spicy smoke through the untrimmed whiskers of his mustache. Clicking the mouse, the screen tabbing to a picture of Rachel, hair shining under blue neon lights._

_He sighs, sets the cigar down, and turns in his chair to face the men in suits in front of his desk._

_"Is there a reason why every person in this city has found this girl and yet all of you have not? Because I'm very interested to hear it, if that's the case. Donny? Leo? Anyone?"_

_A clean cut man in a navy blue suit steps forward, running an anxious hand down the back of his neck._

_"_ _We almost had her last night, boss. She got away in the traffic."_

_Standing, the man nods, his fingertips pursed on the desktop as he leans towards him._

_"You almost had her?"_

_The young man nods, gulping._

_"The traffic, you say?"_ _The tap of his finger against the dark wood echoes through the silent room. Chuckling quietly, his finger pauses. Grabbing the computer screen, he rears back and hurls it against the wall, screaming as it crumples to the floor._

_"I see her face everywhere, EVERYWHERE I TURN!"_

_Pressing his lips together, he slips his hands into his pockets and turns back to the men, tightly drawn together in the center of the room."_ _Except for right here in front of me... Where she needs to be by the end of next week."_

_Staring each of them in the eyes in turn, he gestures towards the monitor, shattered on the floor._

_"I cannot stress this enough. Do we understand boys?"_

_"_ _You got it, boss."_

_Satisfied, he dismisses them, settling back into his chair with his cigar, puffing thoughtfully. Blowing a smoke circle into the air, he studies the red of the burning tip and smiles._

_By the end of next week, Vincent Maroney would make Rachel Berry do more than just sing._


	4. Finding Center Stage

"Bye Quinn," a cast member waves as she walks past her table towards the side door. "Don't work too late."

"I'll try my best," Quinn says with a smile, packing the rest of the video camera gear into its travel case. She hears the stage lights shut off as she hoists the bag onto her shoulder and picks up her camera, turning to follow the girl out. Working this late on a Thursday is going to make for one hell of a Friday morning, especially since she has to finish the video tonight.

Checking her cell phone, she notes the time. 2:26 AM.

But then again, the front lights are probably still up and running, and she wouldn't mind getting a few good photographs of the business sign at night to finish off her layout. Bypassing the door, she curves through the backstage and into the house, nodding good bye to straggling bartenders as she exits through the front. A full breath of cool night air rejuvenates her a little as Quinn adjusts the strap on her shoulder and brings the camera to her eye, angling it towards the roof.

Perfect.

The soft glow of the gold bulbs and blacklight against the night sky; her inner photographer sighs in satisfaction. This would fit perfectly in the background of the layout she had arranged yesterday. At this rate, she'd have the project done early enough to publish Friday. She had gotten a lot accomplished tonight on the video, too, with certain distractions not present... right, not focusing on her. Raising the camera to her eye, she refocuses, literally and figuratively.

Now to capture some of this brick for a little more industrial approach...

The breeze rustles down the street, blowing the tips of her hair lightly against the back of her neck, scuttling loose paper down the sidewalk. The hollow clink of a glass bottle knocked into the side of the brick building stops Quinn in mid-click. Holding perfectly still, she watches the alley to her left out of her peripheral, studying the darkness for movement.

_Why would someone be out this late?_

Seeing nothing, she snaps the last picture without looking and makes a show of slipping the lens cover back on the camera, her eyes never leaving the black emptiness nestled between the bar and the building next door.

_Maybe it's just a cat._

Slipping her keys out of the side of her video gear bag she walks nonchalantly towards the opposite alley, picking up pace when she's around the corner. Glancing over her shoulder, she presses the unlock button on her key fob, headlights blinking way ahead on the single, lonely car sitting in the club parking lot.

_Had to take pictures tonight, huh._

She slips the camera into the bag on her shoulder.

_Couldn't have just waited until tomorrow night when there would be people everywhere, Quinn._

The scuff of a shoe on the black top behind her leaves all thoughts of appearance behind. Safety behind the lock of the car door is her only thought as she breaks into a run, the echo of her heels pounding mercilessly against the ground, bouncing off the walls with the sound of some other's chasing recklessly behind her.

Chasing too close.

Ripping her car door open, Quinn throws herself in.

"Please dont break," she adds, tossing her gear onto the passenger side floor as she slams the door and locks it, shoving her key in the ignition.

The car fires into life as Quinn breathes a quick sigh of relief, checking the rear view mirror.

_Made it._

The pass of a shadow over her back window twists her face in fear as a figure moves in front of the car, stepping into the headlights.

The laughter that bubbles out of Quinn surprises even herself as Rachel stands there, her hair windblown and cheeks tinted pink. Annoyance is clearly evident on her face, the hands on her hips, and the slow tapping toe on what appears to be a broken heel.

Oh boy.

Quinn motions her around the car, clicking the unlock sheepishly. Instead of going to the passenger's side, Rachel marches to Quinn's door, rips it open and huffs.

"My god you should have ran track in high school."

Quinn's second round of laughter is cut off firmly as Rachel's lips melt into hers, the warmth of her palm pressing into the hollow of Quinn's chest, forcing her up and into the passenger's seat. Her legs tangle in Rachel's across the driver's seat as she crawls in after her. Quinn calls out as her head hits the glass, her cry dying off into a growl as Rachel's fingers raking up the back of her neck and into her hair. Before the warmth that is Rachel mushes her brain, Quinn kicks off her heels and reaches with her foot for the door handle, pulling it deftly shut. Rachel laughs when she reaches to press the lock button.

"What?" Quinn says, grinning at the mega watt smile on Rachel's face. "I was just stalked in the night. I'm a little shaken up."

Rachel pushes a blonde hair away from Quinn's face and chuckles.

"Quinn, I said your name like twenty times. You just couldn't hear it over the sound of an Olympic sprinter in heels."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she folds her hands in the small of Rachel's back.

"What person is out roaming the streets at two in the morning Rachel."

"Couldn't sleep, wanted to see you." Pressing a quick kiss to her collar bone, Rachel snuggles into her. "Plus you're precious with your camera, so I couldn't not watch. And the interruption yesterday had me forgetting all about phone numbers so I had no way to tell you I was coming."

Quinn grumbles death threats for Santana against the top of Rachel's head, relishing in the scent of her shampoo.

"I suppose that's true. Stalking forgiven." Quinn strokes the soft leather of Rachel's coat, moving her butt to try to find a comfortable spot on the emergency brake. "You know, Rach, I have this thing called an apartment. We could go there and do this."

Rachel raises her head, gasping, her mouth open in shock.

"Quinn Fabray, are you suggesting that I'm easy!"

Quinn chuckles, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl.

"Darling, no one would ever accuse you of that." Planting a kiss in her hair, she pulls herself out from under Rachel until she is sitting in the passenger's seat, Rachel pouting from the driver's. "I _was_ thinking we could actually talk for once. I mean I have some work I have to do too, but it would be nice to see you… in a place where I can chain you in and you have no quick escape routes."

Rachel smirks, her hands moving to put on the seat belt. She clicks it in place and looks up at the blonde, cracking her fingers dramatically.

"Where to, madam?"

"Uhh... don't you want to take your car?"

Rachel looks over her shoulder as she backs out, shrugging.

"Took the subway. And your years of knowledge on me does suggest that you shouldn't invite me over if you don't want me to commandeer your car and leave immediately."

Quinn chuckles, clicking her own seat belt on.

"You're a strange person, Rachel."

"Do I make it better or worse if I say you had me at 'I can chain you in?'"

Quinn cheeks heat at the picture in her mind, her eyes glazing over. Rachel chuckles throatily, pulling up to the street as the blonde sits mutely beside her.

"I thought as much. Hey Quinn, directions would be good..." Rachel studies the girl sitting broken beside her. "Any time now..."

Quinn clears her throat, shaking her head.

"Uhhhh left. Take a left, Rachel."

Rachel smiles as Quinn flips on the radio and turns her head to watch the cars pass by, the low glow of the stereo light shining on their intertwined hands.

* * *

Rachel feels a little more at home at Quinn's than she had expected.

Watching the blonde work over the kitchen table, biting her lip as she edits her film in yoga pants and a sweater, her heart melts. She sips her hot chocolate and stirs Quinn's at the counter before carrying both over to the table with a bag of cookies tucked under her arm.

"Madam."

"Thanks," Quinn replies, smiling up at her as she wraps her hands around the mug. "Mmmm you nailed hot chocolate. Adding that to the list of positives."

Rachel chuckles, settling into the seat across from her and slipping her feet up into the blonde's lap. 

"I hadn't realized we were keeping track."

Quinn snorts, clicking away on her computer.

"I'm Quinn Fabray. Of course I keep track."

"Hmmm.." Rachel murmurs, dipping a chocolate chip cookie into her mug. "How's the numbers look so far?"

Looking at her over the computer screen, Quinn pushes the glasses up on her nose.

"You're having a good quarter." Rachel rolls her eyes, twirling her hair around a finger as Quinn squeezes her feet. "I think I'll hold on to my stock a little longer."

"Be still my heart," Rachel replies, reaching to tap the top of the laptop. "So how exactly did you go from head cheerleader to editor in chief? I suppose it's not that far of a jump really, but this isn't what I had pictured for young Quinn Fabray."

"It's not where I pictured myself either, to be honest." She says, clicking her mouse. "I actually started as a photography intern at Lush and one thing led to another and here I am, writing, both fortunately and unfortunately."

Rachel quirks an eyebrow, sipping her cocoa. When she first saw Quinn at the club she seemed happy as ever, wildly successful and beautiful; she would have never pegged her as dissatisfied.

"How so?"

Shrugging, Quinn smiles and reaches to grip the mug in both her hands.

"Well, I'm fortunate because I have a really good job that I usually enjoy and that I'm quite talented at. And I'm unfortunate because it's not necessarily what I'm passionate about... some days I just feel like, man, I wish I had done what I love instead of what I'm loved for, you know?"

"Hmm," Rachel nods thoughtfully, crunching on a cookie. "I feel that way about my voice sometimes. I mean I love to sing, but I wonder how many people like me for me, and not just for the sound that comes out of my mouth."

Quinn nods, dunking a cookie in her cocoa.

"Exactly. I get tired of feeling like a commodity, as I'm sure you understand as well. Like if I stopped tracking down crazy good stories, I sure wouldn't be the God I am now at the office. Sometimes I feel like my reputation for producing the good stuff is all that keeps me around that place. People love to read the junk I write, and usually, it's just stories I happen upon... like the club for instance. Brittany told me about it."

Rachel hums along in agreement.

"I know exactly what you mean. So, you wouldn't have just gone to the Black Cat without Brittany suggesting it?"

Quinn scoffs, her eyes back on her monitor.

"I never do anything outside of work, Rachel. I'm kind of boring."

"Oh, you're not boring."

Rolling her eyes, Quinn pushes a cookie across the table to the brunette.

"It's bad enough I have to work while you're here, let's not talk about it or me anymore. What about you? Where have you been, Rachel?"

Rachel can't help the grin that sneaks across her face at Quinn's choice of words. _So, she's been following my career after all._

"After college I got lucky and landed a spot on Broadway right off. Course it wasn't a lead, but it was still wonderful. And then I did get the lead in Mama Mia last year and that show was... so perfect."

Rachel stumbles over her words, her eyes welling at the intense need she feels, even thinking about it, for the stage and the people she'd grown so close to.

"It was really just... a life changing part." She concludes, smirking at the irony. Yes, her life had changed tremendously from that musical...especially the part where she had to stop singing because of it. Fluttering quietly under Quinn's scrutiny, Rachel could practically hear her taking notes in her head.

"So then why did you quit?"

"Quit?"

"Yeah, Rachel." Quinn says, pushing her laptop to the side. "I used to watch your name cut through our entertainment column every week. You were a rising star. Why would you quit?"

Pausing, Rachel leans her head to the side. She could tell her... Just to get it off her chest.. to share it with someone else..

But no, that wouldn't be fair. Quinn would take this story and she would... help her. She would publish it and get the public on Rachel's side and yes, people would finally stand up to Vincent Maroney. Maybe they would feel empowered and come to stand beside Rachel in court on that day. Maybe they would even testify the horrors Maroney has committed on their loved ones or strangers alike. But in the back of her mind, all Rachel can hear is the Witness Protection agent's voice...you're the only one left, Rachel. She's it. All of the other witnesses have been killed. How could she risk other people putting themselves in this danger when she doesn't want to be... when she's too weak to handle it, but Quinn... Quinn wouldn't hesitate to step forward and put herself on the line, writing something in the most read magazine in America about a murderer like it's no big deal. She'd be lucky if she made it to the end of the week. And as quick as Quinn would sacrifice herself for her, Rachel knew, watching the blonde smile and reach to pat her hand, that she would surrender herself in the blonde's place just as fast.

If not telling her kept her safe; if not telling her kept only Rachel's name on Maroney's list of targets... then that's what she would do.

Rachel sighs, pushing her hair behind her ear.

"I just needed a break for... personal reasons. I hope to get back to it soon, but I feel like I've gotten a ... better perspective on life, in my absence."

Nodding, hazel eyes study her as she reaches self consciously for her lukewarm cocoa.

This was her weight to bear.

"Well, I hope you get back to it soon." Quinn says, reaching to intercept Rachel's hand on its way to her mug. "You light up the stage when you're on it, Rach. Truly, it's breathtaking."

Rolling her eyes, Rachel swats at Quinn's hand and tries to ignore the butterflies beating against her insides.

"Oh geez. How about we stop talking about both of us, and instead," she says, tapping the laptop with her fingertip. "You share your little project."

Quinn beams like a proud child, flipping the monitor towards her.

"Do you want to see? I just finished so you can give me feedback!"

Before Rachel can respond Quinn hits play, the background flashing still pictures of the club. Quinn's voice cuts in as video footage rolls.

_In a city that never sleeps, standing out can be a challenge. Everyone's been there, done that. But here at the Black Cat, real animals come out to play. Every night a different show, every week a different theme; nothing at the Black Cat is ever the same twice. How does the newest club in town become the hottest virtually over night? How will they keep people coming when, really, they only have one thing to offer?_

_I'm Quinn Fabray and today's the day, we get the answers. Welcome to the Black Cat, insider's edition._

Rachel smiles as the footage rolls on, showing the girls sweating at rehearsal, Brittany's smiling face as she describes choreography, and a spur of the moment water fight with Patti's voice over it, advising on how freedom to create is important with Broadway stars. Rachel laughs as Quinn is dressed in a Burlesque costume then hums in interest as she's given a one-on-one lesson with the light crew on how to add emotion to the stage show. It's impressive, the way Quinn captures both the drive and the delight of the business, how everyone works hard but plays hard, too.

It's also adorable how Quinn watches her watching the video, gauging her face for reaction. Rachel feels herself blush as the screen fades to a clip of her belting out a love ballad.

She's gonna get an earful when Witness Protection sees this on Saturday, but at least by then, she'll be long gone from the club and tucked back into the haven of her apartment.

_With Broadway's hottest stars shoving each other out of the way to get a chance at this stage, it was only a matter of time before the city caught on. Is it as high class as other places? No. Does it have great food? Only if chips count. But night after night, people are turned away at the door, drawn to the bright lights and passionate people who work here and play here, making this club a true diamond in the rough. Did I learn a lot delving into the Black Cat the past week? Of course! I learned about choreography and song interpretation. I learned the secrets behind house drinks and good lighting. I had hundreds of conversations with some of the industry's best, past and present._

_But what I will carry with me after this experience has long passed is the look in the eye of the performers right before they go on stage; the quiet smile that plays on their lips as they do what they love simply because they love it._

Rachel feels a tear run down her cheek as the video cuts to its final scene, a clip of her, the girls, and Patti laughing outrageously sitting on the edge of the stage side by side, their heads, backs, and shoulders shaking.

_For those of us who haven't found our inspiration, this place is a darn good start. The Black Cat is bawdy and raw, but it's also beautiful. They're successful because they do whatever they want, and they do it well. I can't thank them enough for the experiences they've given me this past week._

_And to you, the readers, I've got just one thing to say: this baby purrs like no other. Go to the Black Cat this week and check it out. If the show is sold out, go next week, and the week after, and the week after that until you get in. In a city of has-been's and been-done's, we have finally found something worth standing up for, so we had better do it. Some things are just too good to waste._

_Thank you for joining me on my first inside edition, I hope you've enjoyed the ride. This is Quinn Fabray, signing off._

"So?"

Rachel wipes at her cheeks with her palms and closes the laptop, sliding it back towards Quinn, whose face is glowing under the single light over the table.

She's right. Some things really are too good to waste.

"I love it."

Quinns smiles, reaching for Rachel's fingers.

"Really? It's not too cliche?" "Really. You nailed the atmosphere, plus it was fun and informative... even a little touching. Obviously." She adds, gesturing towards her tears.

"I mean it's not perfect yet-"

Rachel squeezes Quinn's hand, standing up to move to sit in her lap as the blonde pushes her glasses up her nose again.

"Quinn." She says, plopping down on her legs. "It's perfect."

"Well it will be when-"

"Quinn." Rachel adds, raising an eyebrow as hazel eyes meet hers.

"Yeah?"

Pushing the hair away from Quinn's face, Rachel smiles down at her. Some moments are just too good to waste as well.

"I said it's perfect. Now stop talking and kiss me."

Quinn chuckles as she picks Rachel up, pushing away mugs and knocking the cookies on the floor as she lays her across the kitchen table.

Crawling on top of her she does exactly as she's told, with no further interruptions.

* * *

The house couldn't hold another body if it tried. Rachel chuckles from behind the curtain as she watches Quinn grimace, squeezing between two sweaty guys en route to Santana at their table. Patti sold out the last admission two hours prior to the first act and the cast was buzzing with excitement, fluttering around backstage in feather boas and silk stockings.

After seeing the work Quinn put into their insider, Rachel knew that after the video aired tomorrow, this place would be like this for months.

Rachel presses her palm against the quiver in her abdomen as Quinn's throaty chuckle carries across the stage to her. She had hoped the girl would come, after all, she did manage to get two acts in tonight's show.

But now that she is both here _and_ front and center, Rachel feels just a touch queasy.

Of course, never from nerves… anticipation then, it must be. Her first solo act! And also her last, until after the trial at least.

Spying the band gathering back in their alcove, Rachel turns, adjusts the open collar of her button-up shirt, and moves to her spot behind the curtain as the backstage lights flashing the one minute warning.

The violins begin the opening rhythm of The Veronicas Untouched and a slinky smile dawns on her face.

She loves to perform, but to do something for someone special... it's a new adrenaline she could get used to.

Shimmying her shoulders with the beat, the curtain starts to raise, red lights silhouetting her from behind, a single moving shadow on the stage.

Strutting forward, Rachel wraps her hands around a mike on a stand, leans her lips against it, and rasps into the first verse. She fights the urge to smile as the crowd goes wild, wolf whistling as she pulls the top of her shirt to the side, running her fingers along her bare collar bone. Her eyes find Quinn's, smoldering hazel, a sultry smirk playing on her lips, as she breaks into the chorus.

_I feel so untouched and I want you so much that I just can't resist you, it's not enough to say that I miss you._

She turns towards the back and Brittany slides her a simple black chair from backstage. Alright, improv! Feeling the burn of Quinn's stare on her leather clad back side, Rachel bites her lip at Brittany before smiling and pulling the chair behind her to the center. Moving back to the mike, her fingers play with the buttons of her shirt. As she starts into the second verse, the first button slips through its hole, revealing the top of her black lace bra.

By the beginning of the second chorus, her shirt is open and Quinn is blushing, her eyes tracing the trail of sweat between Rachel's breasts.

Rachel shivers a little. She's never been so... forward... with someone as she is with Quinn. But she can't escape it, the pull she feels towards the girl. It's why she picked this song. In a lot of ways, it's why she's on the stage tonight.

Strutting back towards the chair, she walks around it, running her finger across the back as the instrument break plays on. As the final chorus begins, she sings along, sitting down in the chair, spreading her legs provocatively as she cups her breasts and slowly runs her hands down her abdomen, along her open thighs. Crossing her legs with a suggestive eyebrow raise she actually hears Quinn choke on her drink as she stands and twirls the chair around her, stepping onto it and down on her way back to the mike stand. As the last words pass her lips the crowd goes wild, slapping their table tops and whistling, and warmth spreads from her face all the way down to her toes.

Bowing, she slips off her shirt and tosses it to Quinn who catches it, shaking her head slowly, the gleam of her teeth caught in the stage lights as she laughs brightly.

Rachel smiles at the sight, content for the first time in a long time with her place in the world.

As the curtain starts to fall she sends a wave and blows a few kisses to the house, laughter bubbling out of her at the guys falling over themselves, pretending to catch them in the air. Another standing near the stage cries, "you looked great in the video but even better in real life!" and Rachel chokes.

Video?

Three steps from stage left the men move quickly along the outside of the crowd towards the backstage door, their suits a little too overkill for a night at a bar.

How could anyone have seen the video? It's only...

Her steps falter as the first man meets her eyes in the dimming stage light, a glint of purpose there, noticeable even at a distance. A woman stands abruptly in front of him, her chair knocking him towards the wall. His suit jacket slips back, the metal of his gun flashes as it catches the light, and Rachel gasps.

Quinn finished the video early. It's been aired a day in advance.

An excited Brittany pulls her off the stage and into her arms but the tight embrace isn't what's knocked the air out of her.

She was the one who told her it was finished.

How could she have been so dumb?

Pushing through the girls Rachel apologizes under her breath, slipping through the tips of their fingers.

With a fleeting glance over her shoulder as the stage door bursts open, she hears the gruff yell of a man, bows her head, and runs.


	5. Chapter 5

She hadn't heard from Rachel in days.

Normally, Quinn wasn't one to get all up in someone's face, but with Rachel, she just... wanted to know that she's well. So she took matters into her own hands.

Well, kind of... if following around Brittany until she finally told her where Rachel lives counts.

Brittany only knew the right building, having dropped Rachel off there once when she was in a hurry, but with that information Quinn turned on her super sleuthy reporter skills and starting skimming mailbox names. Not that there was an R. Berry anywhere, because that would be too easy. So she knocked on doors, crossing off the apartments as she narrowed down the list of unlabeled boxes.

Creepy? Sure, but effective. Turns out she would make one hell of a door to door sales person if the whole magazine thing falls through. But finally, she narrowed it down to one rather nondescript door, the last one on her list of twelve, and her last hope at finding Rachel.

Actually standing outside of the door, Quinn just feels horribly awkward. How is it her and Rachel have never exchanged phone numbers? She really had to remember that next time.

Knocking quietly, she steps back and waits. Maybe she should try the sales bit with her too? _Hello Miss, have I got a deal for_ —Quinn stops as a shadow passes behind the peekhole, jumping as the door flings open. Rachel with her hair disheveled, tucked in a pile on the top of her head, widens her eyes in surprise as Quinn smiles hesitantly at her, rooted to her spot on the front mat.

So not awkward.

Sticking her head out the door frame, Rachel looks up and down the hallway for the hoard of people she apparently thinks Quinn travels with, her eyes finally coming to rest on the blonde in front of her, an eyebrow raised in question.

"Hi." Quinn says, shrugging her shoulders.

"Get in here."

She jumps inside the doorframe as Rachel slams the door shut behind her, locking two deadbolts.

"A little security conscious?"

Rachel's wary eyes and half smile make Quinn's heart flutter.

"Clearly not enough. Now, how exactly did you find my apartment?" She adds, breezing out of the foyer. Quinn slips off her shoes and scrambles to catch up, unsure if she's in trouble or not, peeking around the rooms of the apartment as they pass by.

It's cozy. She likes it.

"I have ways of finding people. Kind of a perk of the job," Quinn says, sliding to a stop in her socks by the breakfast bar in the kitchen. Rachel scoffs, washing her hands before sticking them back into a mixing bowl of ingredients.

"Well that doesn't seem like a gross misuse of power at all, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn chuckles, sticking her finger in the bowl. Rachel's huffs and pulls the bowl towards her, her efforts to appear angry doing little to dampen the pleasant glow of surprise still shining in her eyes.

"Okay maybe I asked Brittany. Whatchya ...making?" Quinn says, noticing the fresh baked goods spread around the apartment. Rachel grabs a spoon and pauses, her forehead creasing with worry before she starts stirring. She adds a touch of cinnamon.

"Muffins."

"Mmmm, I see and at what point does one stop making muffins?" Quinns starts, circling around the bar to stand behind Rachel, eyeing the stacks of muffin mountains all over the counters. "Not that I mind, I like muffins."

She chuckles, slapping Quinn's hands away from her waist as she moves to pour the batter in the muffin pan.

"So I've heard."

Quinn gasps in mock horror, a hand covering her mouth.

"Rachel! I'm apalled!"

Rachel giggles, swiping batter from the rim of the bowl and slipping it suggestively into her mouth as Quinn traps her between her arms against the countertop.

"Oh, my apologies, Miss Fabray." Quinn grins at her, happy that she's at least smiling, let alone trying to be sexy with a smear of batter above the right corner of her mouth. Reaching up to cup her face in her hands, she turns it from side to side feigning inspection.

"Yep, I thought so. You even wear muffin well."

Rachel's smile drops to a pout as Quinn chuckles, leaning in to suck the batter off her lip gently.

"All better." She adds, her eyes shining warmly. Sunday mornings with Rachel is something she could get used to very quickly.

"You, my dear," Rachel starts, slipping away from Quinn to put dirty measuring cups into the sink. "Are a tease. Now what exactly brings you around on this fine day?"

Quinn watches her as she moves about the kitchen, tidying up and strangely disconnected.

"I was worried."

Rachel stops and turns to her, a knowing look in her eyes.

"...about what exactly?"

"You ran out on Friday and I didn't get to talk to you..." Quinn pauses as she gauges Rachel's reaction. Relief? Maybe? Her face reddens as Quinn stutters on. "...and I hadn't heard from you and it is now Sunday. So. I came looking."

"I see," Rachel says, rinsing off her hands and wiping them on the dish towel. "Well, as you can see, I am quite alright. You may feel free to let yourself out when you are ready."

Quinn knits her eyebrows together, following Rachel as she suddenly storms out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

"Uhh yeah well when I'm ready, I'll do that. It's good to see that you're alright, too. Now if you could explain to me why you're acting like a total douche, well, that would be great."

Rachel scoffs, her hand to her chest, as she turns to face Quinn, anger in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry Quinn. Maybe I have lots of reasons as to why I'm acting _like a total douche_. Maybe you don't get to know these things because you've been in my life for a week. I don't owe you anything and I don't appreciate you coming into my home and using that tone."

Quinn sticks her hands up in forfeit, chasing after Rachel as she turns on her heel and continues down the hallway.

"I'm sorry Rachel but I'm on your team here. I don't know how else to prove that to you. If you're upset I just-" Quinn feels her voice catch in her throat as Rachel stops dead in front of her, the anguish in her voice clear even without seeing her face.

"You don't know me, Quinn Fabray... You dont know anything about me."

And with that, she steps into her room and slams the door.

Quinn runs a hand through her hair and exhales slowly. Okay. Here she thought they could do brunch and spend the day cuddled up on the couch. This is definitely not that. Sighing, she leans against the doorjamb and slides to the floor.

"Rachel..."

"Go _away_ Quinn!"

 

Some time later...

So. Let's consider the obvious.

She seemed fine during her performance on Friday...more than fine. Totally hot, actually. Then someone else ended up singing her part in the second act because she had disappeared. Brittany had told her a bunch of guys had shown up asking for her but no one could find her. And now here she is locked in her room, crying.

Quinn bangs her head quietly against the door frame at the sound of Rachel's quiet sobs inside. _Had to date girls, Fabray._

Sighing, Quinn pulls herself up and heads back down the hallway, searching for the bathroom. Whatever it is that's bothering her, she's not just going to leave her alone, no matter what she may want. After washing her face to help calm her nerves, Quinn searches meticulously through the drawers. Finding what she needs, she turns back down the hall to Rachel's room and gets on her knees, wiggling the bobby pin inside the lock hole.

_Come on_.

She bites her lip. When the lock pops open she tosses the bobby pin over her shoulder and fist pumps, then realizing she has to actually go into the war zone, stands quietly and smooths out her hair. _Better to die trying_. Pushing open the door quietly, she says a silent prayer.

The room is a simple blue, darker than the sky and a little warmer, like a blue jay, and Quinn is overcome with how... Rachel it is. The furniture is oversized and elegant, almost obstinate in the tiny room. Yet the flowing white drapes and bedding add comfort, pops of coziness in the shag rug, the vase of lilies and pictures of her family dawning the dresser tops. It's inviting in the best way, except for Rachel, who lays face down, her shoulders heaving in the pile of pillows on the giant bed.

Quinn approaches her quietly, not quite committed to this actually being a good idea. But when Rachel whimpers from under the comforter, Quinn's lifting it and sliding in beside her without hesitation, her arms wrapping around the girl as she pulls her face into her chest. She doesn't say anything. Rachel clings to her, buried into her neck, and she knows she doesn't need to. In minutes, the girl is heavy against her and snoring softly, passed out like she hasn't slept in weeks. Quinn runs her fingers through the brunette's hair and sighs.

Maybe she doesn't know Rachel, but she'd like to. Doesn't that mean something? As far as she's concerned, there's plenty of time for Rachel to come to terms with letting her into her life, and, for however long that takes, she would wait.

Pressing a light kiss to the top of her head, Quinn snuggles in a little closer, her eyes drifting shut as Rachel nestles safely in her arms.

Hell, she would wait forever if she had to, she'd already waited her whole life as is.

* * *

 

_"I just think we're going about this all wrong, Vince." Leo says, sitting in the chair across from him and crossing his legs, his fingertips peaked together in front of his face. "We've gone after Rachel Berry ten different ways and yet somehow, she always escapes. We've lost our element of surprise with her. We don't even know where she lives and it's been months of searching."_

_Vince looks at the T.V. in the corner, muted as it covers some new update on another war overseas. Everyone always fighting, always struggling to get on top, sometimes he just gets tired of having to be the boss. Sometimes he just wants to be a family man._

_Looking back at Leo, he reaches for the remote on his desk, clicking the power button._

_"So you come here now with an idea, yes?"_

_Leo clears his throat and leans forward, sliding a picture towards him._

_"I think if you want to grow roses in your garden, sometimes you have to give them a reason to bloom. So, I'm suggesting we… add a little sunlight to the backyard. If we can get Rachel, maybe she can come to us instead."_

_Vince flips the picture over carelessly and raises an eyebrow. The blonde behind the photography camera is beautiful, a smile lighting up her whole face as she touches Rachel Berry's shoulder. Yes. Maybe a little sunshine is exactly what the doctor ordered._

_Sliding the picture back, Vince dismisses him with a wave of his hand and leans back into the plush leather of his chair._

_"Tell the other men to keep looking. You just do what you do, Leo."_

_Thank God at least one of his men is capable._

* * *

 

Quinn wakes with a start, popping her head up out of the nest of pillows, her mouth pasty and dry. Pushing her hair off of her forehead she turns to look over her shoulder, but the bed is empty and the quiet humming from down the hall has Quinn rubbing her eyes and adjusting her clothes. She would go into a coma the first time she sleeps at Rachel's. Now she's never going to pull off that _oh, I always wake up looking this great_ attribute she was hoping to. Rachel probably looks perfect, she thinks, shuffling down the hall. Sure enough, Rachel has a stack of french toast laid out on the table with silverware, her hair perhaps neater than when she first fell asleep, and her eyes bright like the morning sun.

"Hey sleepy head."

Mumbling, Quinn sits in the chair and waits for her eyes to adjust to the kitchen lights. Rachel puts a plate in front of her, dousing it in syrup.

"Did you sleep well?"

Scratching her arm, Quinn nods and reaches for a fork. Rachel chuckles, slipping into the chair across from her.

"Good. I hope you like french toast."

Taking her first bite, Quinn groans in pleasure and gives Rachel a thumbs up. The girl even made perfect fluffy breakfasts. Bliss. Sipping out of her mug, Rachel clears her throat and reaches for Quinn's hand as it shovels more food into her mouth.

"Quinn."

Setting her fork down, Quinn stares at her, the stirrings of thought beginning in the back of her mind.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you earlier. Even though you just showed up here without permission, I know you did it with good intention and I actually didn't mind. So, I'm sorry and also, I put my phone number in your phone."

Chuckling, Quinn nods and pats her hand, picking her fork back up as she replies.

"I'm sorry I violated your personal space, although I'd like to remind the jury that there was a time you once stalked me in the night. "

Rachel pours syrup on her own food, cutting a section with her fork while she laughs.

"Yeah, well I can think of other ways you could violate my personal space."

Quinn swallows slowly, watching Rachel as she cuts methodically. You would think she would be used to it by now, the way Rachel switches gears so quickly.

"You… what?" Quinn says, staring at the brunette as she lifts her eyes to meet hers and smiles.

"Nothing, darling." She adds, patting her hand. "We'll talk about it after lunch."

Quinn nods and tries to go back to her plate, but suddenly, she wasn't so hungry... well, for french toast, anymore.

* * *

 

The soft patter of rain against the windows is delicate, an after thought almost, like Rachel's gentle kisses chasing hidden paths across her skin. There was a time when, for Quinn, their bodies pressing perfectly together was but a secret dream meant only for the night. Then Rachel slipped out of her sweats and quietly into her arms and Quinn stumbled, her heart beating in every inch of her body like she was underwater, and she knew that drowning would be so very sweet.

Her breath hitches as Rachel nips at her hip bone, her playful chuckle drowned out by the husky moan Quinn lets slip when Rachel tastes her hesitantly. She's self conscious of the warm brown eyes watching her every move. A deep stroke against her core sends those brown eyes rolling back in pleasure, and Quinn whimpers, realizing that watching Rachel enjoy her is almost more of a turn on than the actual act itself.

Almost.

A prickling heat thrums its way up her abdomen, settling across the base of her neck and she flexes her fingers, clenching the sheets in her hands. Thrusting up ever so slightly, Rachel hands move to her hips and below, tracing along the gentle curve of Quinn's butt. She lifts her to meet her mouth, the feather light brushes of her tongue stealing the air from Quinn's chest as her eyes flutter shut, relishing in the warmth of Rachel deep within her.

But only for a second.

She groans as Quinn tugs her away, back up to her face where she presses Rachel's mouth firmly against her own.

"Together, Rach."

And they do. Thighs straining valiantly against the work of each others' hands, they meet in the middle, a tangle of skin and soft touches, murmured thoughts and stolen kisses.

Sighing blissfully as her heartbeat slows, the shivers of electricity crackling along her skin, Quinn leans her head against the brunette curled into her and smiles sleepily.

The real thing is so much better than her dreams.

"Who are you, Rachel Berry."

Rachel chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the blonde's neck.

"Everything you've ever wanted, doll."

And Quinn knows, she's right. 

* * *

 

And thus things continue as they do.

Quinn goes to work and swims in praise, swamped with calls from businesses wanting a "Black Cat" insider of their own while her evenings are consumed by the girl that's no longer just a part of her dreams. In fact, she often rushes through her days just to get home to her, and everyone at the office had to come to terms with the blonde being this new, not married-to-the-job kind of Quinn they'd never met before. Even the slightest thought of Rachel would send Quinn into the memories streaming continuously in the back of her mind: long fingers trailing lazily along skin, Rachel's hair splaying across the bare sheets as she slept, the cool shimmer of her skin in the moonlight, and then boom, her train of thought was derailed for the day.

One time she was so sure she caught Rachel's scent in the hallway and an intern ran her down with the mail cart.

She couldn't help it, her focus had changed and now she was totally lost without the brunette at her side. Santana calls her pathetic but to Quinn, the deep ache in her stomach is... hope. It's happiness. Like for years she had been empty, and is now so full she doesn't quite know how to function.

She had finally found her someone, and together, they could just be.

* * *

 

The sound of the deadbolt turning rips Rachel from her pleasant state of pre-sleep, the pounding heartbeat in her ear almost loud enough to drown out the quiet snoring of Quinn stretched out against her side.

"Quinn." She whispers as she crawls over her, yanking her half sleeping form towards the window.

Which one was it? How did they find her? How long have they known?

"Quinn, wake up!"

Quinn moves with Rachel incoherently, mumbling as she takes her first step out of the bed. Her sleepy eyes see the panic on Rachel's face and lose their haziness immediately, her hoarse whisper alert and urgent in the darkness.

"Rachel, what are-"

"There's someone in here." She says, sliding the window up quietly. "Please, just get outside."

The sound of something falling in the kitchen has both girls scrambling soundlessly out the window, quivering naked in the moonlight. Rachel pushes the window down as Quinn scuttles onto the opposite ledge, crouching against the cool brick of the building. For a second all she can think is thank goodness she chose the apartment with the wide gothic ledges instead of the sleek modern place uptown, but then she catches a glimpse of flashlight beaming in her room and she stands, pressing herself flat against the gritty surface. On the other side of the window, Quinn's face is pale and turned towards her, her eyes wide with fear.

Rachel's lip trembles.

She thought she would be safe once she left the club. She should have never let Quinn stay here. She worked so hard to keep her out of this and now here she is, smack in the middle.

The sound of the apartment being ripped apart tears her from her thoughts as she boils quietly with rage. This was not her choice. At the sound of glass breaking she no longer has to wonder who is inside, but she can feel the questions radiating off Quinn's skin, filling the three feet between them.

Standing exposed with the girl she loves, thousands of feet above the busy streets of New York City, with her safe haven being torn to pieces, Rachel feels so very tiny. For the first time ever, just one single thought burns a hole through the back of her mind.

What now?


	6. Catch Me If You Can

"So you're running from not only one, but two of the country's most infamous organizations? Really, Rachel, I think this time you've out done yourself."

Rachel eyes meet Quinn's from across the diner table as she pushes her untouched oatmeal away. The blonde sighs, running her fingers through her hair, then peeks out the window again. They had crawled back into the apartment two hours after they last heard a sound inside, mostly because they thought it was safe but partly because Rachel refused to let her neighbors see "their goods" for free as the sun rose. She was still anxious, even though they'd taken necessary precautions, and Rachel turning every paper product within arm's reach into tiny shreds on the table wasn't helping.

"Really, it's more like one and a half, Quinn." She says, watching the bits of napkin flutter from her fingers to the pile below. "I mean the Mob is a big problem, but it's not the full blown Witness Protection Program. Hiding Rachel Berry wasn't going to work. I'm fairly well known, you know. So they've been trying to get me in a safehouse, but I just didn't feel like it was necessary."

Quinn frowns over her black coffee.

"You witnessed a murder. The mob was inside of your house, Rachel. I think it's time to reconsider."

Rachel shrugs, reaching for the mug Quinn set down to steal a sip, immediately spitting it back into the cup with a look of disgust.

"Please stop drinking that mud. And maybe you're right. Or maybe I just need to find a new place to hole up. Had I not performed at the Black Cat, I'd still be plenty safe, cooped up in that apartment with nowhere to be, but safe all the same." Crossing her arms with a huff, Rachel stares pointedly out the window. "I've taken care of it in the past and I will now as well."

Quinn's frown deepens. The look of despair on Rachel's face this morning was still too fresh for her to believe that. Watching her in her room surrounded by torn fabric and tossed clothes, shamelessly crying over a ripped picture of her dads, Quinn's heart had broken. Even worse, Rachel has been drawn entirely into herself since then; the space they had been sharing so comfortably the last few weeks is now just Quinn, grasping for straws. The look in those big brown eyes as they picked through her home, realizing not a single thing was still in one piece, she would never let that go.

And she couldn't let Rachel go now, no matter what.

"Rachel."

"I can take care of myself."

"None of this would have happened had I not taken your picture in the first place! I'm the one who threw you back on the front page-"

"Don't you dare blame yourself!" Rachel yells, her face twisting in anger as she slaps the table top with her palms. Her voice lowers as the people in the diner turn to stare, but the fury remains. "I put myself on that stage, Quinn Fabray. I did that, not you. And I knew damn well what you were when I did it the second time. I left you with no idea what you were getting yourself into whatsoever and then they come in the middle of the night! What if I had been asleep! What if…"

She turns to look out the window again, her mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out. Exhaling loudly, she pulls her wild hair over one shoulder, turning back to face Quinn with fear shining in her eyes.

"I can't even bear to think of what would have happened, Quinn. I can't." Her voice cracks and the blonde reaches for her hand, squeezing lightly. Her lips come together, a straight line on her tired face. "I don't think that I can do this anymore."

"The trial is in a month, Rachel. You can make it. We just need to--"

Brown eyes meet hazel as she shakes her head.

"No. I don't want to do this with you."

Quinn's heart thumps sharply against her chest.

"No." Quinn shakes her head, moving to sit in the booth beside her. "You can run away from everyone else,Rachel Berry, but you don't get to run away from me."

Sighing as if all the fight has left her, Rachel reaches to twist the end of a blonde hair around her finger and pouts, their knees touching under the table, and Quinn can't decide if she would rather laugh or cry at how much Rachel obviously wants to curl up in her lap. Leaning in, she brushes a kiss against her forehead.

"You don't get to regret this," Quinn says, brushing the brown hair behind her ears. "I don't. Not for one second. And I don't care if something happens to me, Rachel. I've already had more life without you in it than I'll ever need." She slides her hands down to cup her cheeks and nuzzles their noses together. "Just let me protect you. Or try to. Whatever happens, whatever you decide. Let me at least try. Please."

Rachel's lip trembles as she reaches up to wrap her fingers in Quinn's against her cheek.

"You're sure? Anywhere?"

Quinn smiles slowly then presses a lingering kiss to the side of her mouth.

"Everywhere, darling. I could never stop."

Touching their foreheads together, she sighs and leans back into the crook of Quinn's arm as she wraps it around her, pulling her against her.

"Well then. I guess we better call in the reinforcements."

Quinn chuckles as Rachel's head comes to rest on her shoulder. She takes a final swig of coffee and pats her arm.

"I hope the mob is ready for that."

* * *

"I was in the mob once. It was great!"

"Not a flash mob, babe." Santana grins, kissing the top of Brittany's head from behind the couch before hopping over the back and wrapping an arm around her. "So you're telling me that Berry here is on the lam?"

Rachel sighs for the thousandth time today and reaches for the mug of cocoa sitting on the coffee table.

"'The lam' is perhaps slightly over dramatic Santana. I'm making an effort to stay hidden, yes."

"Because you saw some chick get axed?"

"Correct."

"No shit, Berry. That's legit."

Quinn rubs her eyes, exhaustion from the rude awakening this morning finally creeping up on her.

"Try to focus, guys. The important thing here is that we need a plan to keep Rachel safe for thirty days. Clearly her place is no longer available. She can stay with me for a while, we're assuming, but even that may not be safe."

"How about back in Lima?" Santana says, shrugging her shoulders. Scoffing, Rachel turns her head as Quinn moves to stand beside her.

"I'm not dragging my family into this mess." Reaching for Quinn's hand, she tugs her down into her lap and wraps her arms around her waist. "Everyone here knows I'm from Ohio, but no one knows exactly where. I won't risk it."

Quinn nods, curling her feet up into the chair as she stretches an arm behind Rachel.

"She's right. Her home here or her home there, neither is an option."

The room sits in silence, each girl racking their own mind. Rachel picks nonchalantly at a loose string on the bottom of Quinn's sweatshirt, tired of putting both the girl and the life she's always wanted at risk.

She sighs.

Vince Maroney is ruining her carefully laid plans.

"What if I just go into custody until after the trial? I mean that makes the most sense right?"

Quinn watches her, her lips twist to the side in thought.

"I mean if it were Brittany and I, I would probably go with you." Santana says, nodding at Quinn like she knows exactly what she's thinking.

"She can't," Rachel interrupts, shaking her head. "They don't let you maintain contact once you go in and they only have the resources to take one. Trust me, I've been over this with them enough."

Quinn nods back, her hand rubbing slowly against Rachel's arm.

"I would feel better if I knew you were safe… and they would have better ways to protect you..."

"Yes." Brittany hums happily and pulls her feet up into Santana's lap. "Plus, you look really good in stripes, Rachel."

Rachel chuckles, trying to imagine the mental picture Brittany has of her in custody. She _could_ just remove herself from the equation for a while. Quinn would be okay and in theory, she would just disappear for a few weeks then resume life after the trial without the complication of making choices. She would just have everything she wants. This could actually be her last major life decision until her and Quinn have kids!

Nodding quietly to herself, Rachel leans forward and kisses Quinn's temple.

"I think, for the good of all of us, I need to make a phone call."

Leaning into her, Quinn sighs, but pats her arm understandingly.

"I think so too, babe."

* * *

_"So the Maroney's have found you then. Fantastic. I swear it's a wonder you're not dead yet. Did you really think you could go fluttering out on stage and then hide from them?"_

_"Well, I hid from you."_

_"...We'll be there to pick you up tomorrow morning. Bring everything you'll need."_

* * *

Rachel pushes open the back stage door and shivers, surprised by how cool the night's gotten in the time it's taken her to go in and gather her things from the cast room. Shrugging on her coat she checks the alley and grins at the sight of Quinn, ever graceful, even bundled in six layers and a toboggan, standing guard as Rachel was inside.

Her hero.

A slinky little smirk plays on the corner of the blonde's mouth as she quirks an eyebrow and a finger at her, leaning against a lamp post at the end of the block. Chuckling, Rachel wraps the scarf around her neck and starts towards her, sashaying her hips for good measure.

Tonight was their night. Their last night together until after the trial, their first night together in a lot of ways, now that all of the secrets were finally out in the open. If she didn't feel so obligated to testify, she would have thrown everything to the wind and hopped a flight immediately just to begin her life with this girl.

Quinn's smile widens as she approaches, but Rachel's falters, her eyes lifting to a movement past Quinn's shoulder. She was right. The darkness beyond the glow of the street light was closer, slowly, darker than it should be somehow. The sound catches in her throat as she lifts her hand to point, reaching as her heart pounds against her ribcage.

_Please... Please no. Take me._

The realization dawns on Quinn's face, the color draining from her cheeks as she turns to look behind her. A gloved hand slaps over her mouth, stifling a scream. Rachel barely catches the widening of her eyes as she's yanked back to the shadows, into the backseat of a car that slams its door and squeals away.

The smell of burnt rubber and exhaust hangs in the air with Rachel's broken sob as she falls to her knees on the deserted sidewalk, twin tail lights burning in the empty night air, shrinking to pinpoints in the distance.


	7. In the Still of the Night

The quiet ringing in Rachel's pocket almost goes unnoticed.

Dragging herself up from the sidewalk, she pulls the burn phone out of her coat and lifts it to her ear, staring blankly down the empty street.

"What."

"Hello Rachel."

She pauses, confused as to why the witness protection voice isn't the same guy she usually talks to.

"Who is this?"

"Oh, I'm embarrassed. How could you forget me so quickly?"

The quiet chuckle churns her stomach as she reaches to steady herself on the brick building.

"...How did you get this number."

"You've done a good job hiding from me, but considering what I've recently found in my possession, I thought maybe you'd like to chat."

"...I'm not sure what you mean, Vince."

The chuckle echoes through the phone again and Rachel hears a quiet rustling on the other end. The beep in her ear signals an incoming message.

"I think that picture may jog your memory."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Rachel clicks open the image and bites into her cheek to keep from crying out. Quinn lays in a pile on a wooden floor with a black bag over her head, clearly unconscious, bounded and surrounded by the black leather shoes of Maroney's men.

Taking a deep breath, she brings the receiver back to her face.

"I have no idea who that is."

"Ahh.." Vince says, his voice losing some of its humorous tone. "Well in that case, I suppose I can get rid of it-"

"Stop! Okay! I'm listening!"

The pause on the other end is eerily quiet.

"Much better, Rachel. Tell me, how is your last night with Quinn working out?"

"Why, Vince."

"With age, I have realized that, often times, there are other things people hold more dear than their own life."

"You can have me. Give her back and I will come willingly."

"It's a tempting offer, but how many times have you interviewed with the police? With the F.B.I.? Killing you was never the original goal, Rachel. And having you now will do me no good... not that torturing you wouldn't be, on some level, satisfying. A simple exchange is all I'm asking for."

"So you want my interviews."

"I want you to pull your testimony from the trial. Anything on the record, anything in person, all of it. Pull it all, and I will return Quinn to you in slightly used condition."

Rachel's throat burns as the anger pours out of her.

"If you hurt her, I swear to God-"

"Let's not waste time. You have no other option and my patience is not what it used to be. You do this by the end of the week, Quinn lives."

Setting her head against the rough brick, Rachel closes her eyes tight.

"What if they won't give me the stuff?"

A soft exhale fills the line.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone, honey. Take it from me. Now do we have a deal?"

"I'll have it to you in two days."

Rachel could almost hear his smile through the phone.

"I know you will. After all, you're Rachel Berry."

And with that, the line went dead.

* * *

 

 "Boss said to keep her quiet, but I figure we could have a little "quiet" fun. You're sure this is her?"

"I saw them together outside of that club. It's her."

"Good. Let's get her up."

The loud crack of skin on skin echoes in Quinn's ears as she slowly comes to, wrinkling her nose against a musty stench and the steady thrumming in her cheek bone. Suddenly alert, she gasps, filling her lungs until her chest presses tightly against the gnarled thick strands of rope around her, forcing her upright in a hard wooden chair. She blinks rapidly, adjusting to the relative darkness of the tiny room, a single naked light bulb hanging above her head.

She remembers Rachel and the car... she was too far away, then everything gets a little hazy.

That was then.

Breathing evenly through her nose, Quinn opens her eyes slowly and scans the room.

This is now.

The silhouette of a large man beside the chair shadows across the floor in front of her, the only person she can actually see, but the rustle of movement in the shadowed corners of the stone cellar hints of others. Quinn is more concerned with the man beside her, his knuckles covered in blood, her's she's assuming, by the tough swollen discomfort along the right side of her face.

Swallowing slowly, she flexes her hands against the rope binding her wrists together.

"You know why you're here?"

The man's voice is lighter than she expects, like music, drifting from the corner of the room, and tailored with the round sound of Italian dialect. She squints up at him as he steps into the light, his brown hair curling around his clean face.

 _That's not the face of a killer_ , she thinks to herself, releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

He steps forward abruptly, and with a small smile, drives the back of his hand across her jaw. Quinn holds back a whimper as the metallic taste of blood filters between her clenched teeth. She turns her head back to him, his face close enough she can make out the tiny flecks of gold in his green eyes.

"It will be much easier if you speak."

"I don't know why I'm here." She hoarses, her jaw biting down on her cheek as a meaty hand knocks the back of her head, the silhouette beside her making his presence known. Growling quietly, she rests her chin against her chest, watching the steady drip of blood from her mouth to her lap.

These are not the Italians Eat, Pray, Love had described.

The curly haired man watches her closely as she lifts her head again, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"You don't know why you're here. Well. That is interesting...shall we try something that worked for your friend?"

Unsure whether she should answer, Quinn ducks her head down and eyes him warily as he turns away, reaching for something in the darkness. He approaches her, his fingertips brushing against a photograph in his hand. Crouching down in front of her, he stares at the picture, then he flips it slowly, holding it in front of Quinn's face.

Quinn's eyes soften automatically when they meet the rich brown of Rachel's.

This time she does whimper when the knuckles strike her face, the sticky warmth of broken skin stinging under her temple. The single light bulb multiplies before her eyes, spinning bright, light bouncing like stars in her vision.

"I _knew_ you knew. You know her? Yes?"

Quinn wraps her fingers around the loose bit of rope binding her wrists and squeezes it tightly, clinging to its stability in the spinning room. A low chuckle sounds beside her ear as he leans closer, swiping a finger across the blonde's chin, intimately smearing the blood down her neck.

"I saw how you looked at her." The man reaches forward, running his fingers through a strand of blonde hair affectionately before tucking it behind Quinn's ear. His voice murmurs softly. "You know her very well, don't you?"

Quinn stares forward, jaw set, as he leans a hand on her thigh. Her lip curls at the feel of his mouth against her earlobe, the words he whispers barely audible over the thundering in her heart.

"I will know her very well, too."

Quinn rears her head into his with a dull thud, sending him sprawling towards the floor. She fights to stand, the anger raging all the way to her toes as the man beside her struggles to keep the chair down on the floor. Her arms pulling violently against her bindings, but she can only lash out with her words.

"Don't you fucking _touch_ her, you sick piece of shit. Do you think I care what happens to me? Did you think I would be the person to lead you to her? you will _never_ find her! I will kill you myself!"

His laughter bounces off the stone floor as he lifts his head, a trickle of blood running from his split lip.

"She speaks!" He laughs, pushing himself off the floor with ease, chuckles joining his from the hidden figures around the room. "You are a fiery one, yes? Ohh…"

Clucking his tongue, he brushes the dirt off his shirt, a spark of pleasure in his eye. With a smirk, he pats the side of Quinn's cheek heartily, then wipes his sticky fingers on a handkerchief.

"I bet you two are wonderful together. Maybe I will hold onto you and find out myself."

Quinn spits at him, speckling his cheek with the dull red of her blood.

Before her mouth even closes, his fist meets her face with a growl, lights bursting again behind her eyes.

 _Keep it coming_ , she thinks. If it buys Rachel time until morning, keep it coming.

"You think you can save your little friend?" He yells suddenly, the room silencing around them.

He stares at her, through her, and Quinn's focus shifts from her thoughts directly to him. He smiles and she pauses, caught for a second in his strange beauty.

"She's made a deal to save _you_ , Quinn."

He glows almost angelically in the soft light as he steps under the light bulb and in front of her.

"And when it's done, we will kill her."

Quinn feels her face fall before he even begins the second round of pummeling. Again and again, his fists land blows, but she doesn't notice, her face numb and uncomfortable, her heart clinging for some sort of hope.

Rachel would come. Maroney had found her weakness.

The room starts to fade and she eases her eyes shut, the sharp angry words he utters following her into the darkness.

_She will come for you.._

_and she will be mine..._

_and there's nothing you can do..._

_to stop me..._

* * *

Rachel raps on the door again, biting her sleeve as another sob racks her body.

She can't get it out of her head, the pale shock of Quinn's face behind that black glove. The rasp of Maroney's voice. The time slowly ticking away on her two day deadline. Somewhere in the back of her mind she's fairly sure she's having an anxiety attack, but there's no time for that now.

She has to get help.

She has to get organized.

She has to save Quinn.

Whimpering, she slides to the floor against the door and pulls her knees to her chest, laying her head against them.

They should have stayed together. She should have made Quinn see. She should have been the one taken. For God's sake they should have never gone at all.

Santana finally opens the door, pulling a robe around her as Brittany's head pops up behind her shoulder. Rachel's chewed a hole through the cuff of her shirt. She registers the look of panic on their faces as she sits in a pile on their front mat, shuddering once before the tightness in her chest has her gasping for air.

"Brittany, grab a paper bag." Santana says, sliding her hands under Rachel's armpits and hauling her into the room, setting her on the couch. "We gotta calm her down."

Brittany shoves the brown bag into Rachel's face and scuttles back into the kitchen as Santana mimics breathing patterns, holding the sack closed around Rachel's mouth.

"Come on, Berry. In and out."

Rachel inhales deeply and exhales slowly, the bag crinkling softly as it expands.

"Good, Rach," Brittany says, returning with a warm rag to wipe her face. Pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she leans over and kisses her cheek. "Good job."

Santana sets the bag down beside her on the coffee table, leaning over Rachel's knees to test her temperature with the back of her hand. Rachel feels her pulse start to level out and sighs, her eyes easing shut as she presses her fingers to her temple.

"They took her."

A cup clatters to the floor somewhere in the kitchen and then Brittany is back, speaking silently to Santana with her eyes. Santana stands as Rachel starts to rock herself slowly, her fingers wringing in her lap.

"They took her Santana. I have to give them everything to get her back."

"Okay." Santana says, holding out an arm as Brittany slides into her side, worry creasing their brows. "Let's get everything. I'll call the station. You call witness protection. We'll make them understand. We'll get her back. We just-"

Her voice catches, a tear streaking quietly down her face and Rachel reaches for her hand, gripping it in her own.

"We'll get it done, Rachel. All of it."

The girls separate into their corners, dialing furiously on cell phones, until all of their demands are in motion.

Coming together on the couch, Rachel leans her head against Santana's shoulder as Brittany wraps an arm behind both of their heads, all three watching the silent phones on the coffee table, willing them to ring with good news.

But patience had never been any of their strong points.

"Now what," Santana says, intertwining her fingers in Brittany's.

"There's only one thing we can do," Brittany says setting her head against Santana's other shoulder. "We hope."

Reaching down, Santana grabs Rachel's hand and wraps it in her own.

"We wait and we hope."

But Brittany's words aren't quite strong enough to smooth the fine lines of doubt on their faces.


	8. Wishin' and Hopin'

Rachel wipes the tear trickling over her cheek with the butt of her hand, curling an arm around the pillow tighter. She's exhausted and the girls are right, she should sleep. But she can't until she knows she has what she needs to get Quinn back. The last two hours spent staring at the ceiling in the guest room of the Lopez house did little to ease her mind, Mostly, it just stirred up old memories.

_Rachel bats her eyes in the mirror, dropping the lash curler on the counter next to Brittany. One more coat of mascara and that should do it. When Quinn first suggested the four of them go out Rachel nearly fell out of her chair. She had dreamed of that possibility so often in high school that she actually clapped in response, then mumbled an embarrassed agreement as Quinn's chuckled softly. Swiping on her lip gloss, she smiles into the mirror, Brittany smiling back as they sit side by side on the bathroom counter._

_This is exactly what high school should have been like._

_"Rachel, Brittany, we have to go! Your hair is fine! You both look great! Come onnnn!"_

_Even the demanding Santana paints the picture just right. Brittany giggles as she pounds on the door for the fourth time since_ _she got home from rehearsal, prattling on about some schedule we're supposed to be sticking to._

_"One minute babe!"_

_Sweeping all the makeup into a bag, the girls check their reflections one more time before opening the door to Santana, standing with hands on hips and toe tapping. Brittany pecks her on the mouth and slips past her, grabbing for her coat off the back of the living room chair._

_"So Quinn's going to meet us at the restaurant then?"_

_"Yeah," Santana says, reaching to hold the coat for her. Rachel's heart warms at the sight, both girls looking radiant for their upscale reservations. Quinn has been hounded the last few weeks with phone calls from places wanting her to come write about them, and this one she said was too good to pass up. Rachel had to admit, she'd been a little cagey since she quit the Burlesque club. Quinn had assured her no one would recognize them where they were going and she desperately needed time outside._

_"She called a few minutes ago and is on her way now. We're gonna meet her in the Broadway district."_

She rolls over, squinting to read the wall clock in the darkness.

4:18 am.

Pulling the comforter over her shoulders, Rachel burrows into the pillows, officially giving up on the idea of sleep for the night. Maybe Quinn would get to come home today. Maybe tomorrow they would be together in this bed. It didn't matter. She would keep thinking of her until she's back. And as long as the memories were awake, she would be as well.

_"Hey," Quinn grins, her eyes glowing as she reaches for Rachel, tugging her in for a quick kiss on the cheek as Santana and Brittany carry on down the sidewalk. "You look great, Rach."_

_Rachel leans her cheek into her lips, smiling. It didn't matter what was going on, Quinn always greeted her like she was the only person on the planet, and Rachel adored it._

_"Hey yourself. How was work?"_

_Quinn shrugs, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and rubbing it up and down affectionately._

_"Oh work, you know. I hope you're hungry!" She adds, excitedly, pulling the two of them down the sidewalk a little faster. It was a little brisk outside, but something about Quinn's rosey cheeks and continuous smile made Rachel think there was something more at work here than the weather._

_"Up here, Q?" Santana says, glancing back. "Yeah, next block up. I just have to make one little stop before dinner." She adds, smiling down at Rachel. "The work of a friend of mine from college is the new exhibit at this little gallery. I told him I'd check it out, maybe write something up for the magazine. It's opening night after all."_

_Rachel hums in agreement, eyeing the small group of people waiting outside a door up ahead. She knows exactly what gallery is on this street, she'd passed it so many times on her way to and from her show rehearsals when she was on Broadway. She had even been to a showing there once and knew how hard it was to get in, let alone to get an exhibit there._

_"What kind of work does he do?"_

_"Photography," Quinn says, nodding to a couple on the outskirts of the crowd who she apparently knows as well. Stepping back, she holds open the rustic wooden door and a hand out for Rachel. "We'll only be a minute, Rachel, then on to dinner."_

_Intertwining their fingers, they walk into the gallery together, dropping their coats at the coat check before turning to walk into the main room._

_Rachel's mouth drops open._

_The grand entrance is two stories tall, a floor to ceiling black and white of her hands resting on piano keys. Turning into the room, she's blown away by the sheer number of photos layering the wall in all shapes and sizes; everywhere she looks, there are little pieces of her: a_ _smile over a mug of coffee, the shine of a spotlight on hair, shoes tossed in a pile in the corner of Quinn's room, toes peeking out from under sheets, a naked back in the moonlight._

_"How did you..." Rachel gapes and Quinn shrugs, blushing._

_"I had a few pictures laying around from the Black Cat layout and...I just had to do something with them. So, I submitted my idea to the gallery owner, and he was all for it."_

_She squeezes Quinn's fingers between her own as she walks around the room, breathing in each picture, each moment they'd shared together, almost as if she were reliving them again. The curve of her silhouette on the stage, her favorite book open on the nightstand, fingers tracing rain on a window pane, two toothbrushes side by side. Her own insider into Quinn's head... and she wasn't disappointed. She stops as she gets to the last picture, her hand falling from Quinn's as she moves closer._

_This one isn't of her, but of Quinn, smiling her lazy lop sided grin at the camera with an eyebrow raised, the same face Rachel had seen at least a thousand times before. But this time, Quinn is holding a piece of paper with delicate black words scrawled across it in simple handwriting._

_These pictures are worth a lot of words, but with you, I only need three._

_Turning to meet hazel eyes, she flutters at the weight of the emotion there, her own eyes welling. The left side of Quinn's mouth quirks up, mirroring the grin in her picture as she leans forward, pressing a kiss to Rachel's temple, her fingers curling the loose brown hair behind her ear._

_"I love you, Rachel."_

_The full husk of it settles warmly in her chest, gathering behind her heart, beating through her skin. Resting her palm gently against Quinn's cheek, she brings their lips together, once, twice, three times, tracing her thumb slowly along her jaw and smiles shyly._

_Their hands find each other in the bustling room of gallery hoppers, weaving together as they had so many times before, except this time, with forever in mind._

She never said it back.

Rachel folds her hands together over her stomach, staring blankly at the ceiling. She knows she's made a lot of mistakes when it comes to Quinn. Not being strong enough to say no to her, to keep her out of the middle of this situation, to keep her safe... but of all the things she should have done, she never told Quinn she loved her. Setting her jaw she rolls back to her side, watching the seconds tick by on the clock with new vigor.

She would not lose Quinn. Period. And when she got her back she would do everything in her power to make sure Maroney went away for good, no matter what it took.

If Vincent Maroney wanted a war, Rachel Berry would bring it right to his doorstep.


	9. Chapter 9

_"Nikki Malone speaking."_

_"I know who you are."_

_"...I'm sorry, who is this?"_

_"I'm a friend of yours, if everything goes as it should. I have a little favor to ask."_

_"...I don't do favors."_

_"Then I have one hell of a story for the New York Times. Let's see how Lush does once people know who runs it. Your choice, Nikki."_

_"...Tell me what I need to do."_

* * *

 

Quinn's first realization is the darkness.

Granted her right eye is swollen almost shut, but still, the darkness is all encompassing. It presses down on her from all sides of the cool room, empty except for the heavy rasp of her breathing. For a second, claustrophobia sets in, but she reconsiders. _Better to be alone than to be bleeding._ Doing a quick inventory, she notes that she's still mostly intact and sighs.

This is not the night she had planned at all.

Her thoughts draw to Rachel and the darkness in the room becomes a little more bearable. She can imagine Rachel in a serious state of panic right now and chuckles to herself knowing that Santana is probably taking the brunt of it. That Santana would take the brunt of it, for Quinn, because she knew that Rachel is her… girlfriend or…whatever, and will hopefully get the girl out the door with Witness Protection, as planned, come morning.

Quinn scoffs. Girlfriend. There isn't a single part of her that she can separate from Rachel now. Her in Quinn's favorite hoodie, curled up with a book in the hallway, too enthralled to make it all the way to the couch. Her at the head of the table, eyes shining over a glass of wine as she laughs with Brittany and Santana. The way she shushes Quinn when her dads call because she wants her to be a surprise, not knowing they've already asked Quinn if she'd come home with Rachel for Christmas. The left side of her mouth tugging up before the right when she smiles. The tears that slide silently down her cheeks when she's caught up in a song. It's like every memory Quinn had had from before Rachel has been cleared; she couldn't remember that life at all.

She didn't _want_ to remember that life.

Grinding her teeth, she tugs at her wrists, trying to loosen the rope binding them together.

She would gladly die to keep Rachel safe, that wasn't a question. But she'd be damned if she goes down without a fight. She is Quinn Fabray after all.

Growling in frustration, she yanks again, then stops, startled by the sound of quick footsteps in the hallway outside. Hanging her head, she feigns unconsciousness and waits.

The door creaks open and shut quickly. Quinn opens her eyes, knowing she's at least got the advantage of adjusted vision in the dark. The figure walks towards her, the dim electronic glow of a cell phone lighting a path. Quinn feels strangely calm, staring into the light, unable to see the person behind it. The glint of a blade catches her eye as it moves slowly forward and her muscles tighten with anticipation.

_S_ _o, much for putting up a fight._

The knife moves past her body, cutting the ropes at her wrists before moving on to the next. Breathing an inward sigh of relief, she rubs the rope burn gently. Her ankles are cut free and the phone is held up, illuminating both of them in the darkness.

"Boss?"

"Q." Her boss says, slipping the knife closed and back into her suit jacket. "How in the world did you end up here?"

Quinn touches lightly at her face as her boss examines her with the light.

"I think the real question is how did you find me?"

Her boss pauses, weighing Quinn up with her eyes.

"You didn't show up to work this morning."

"And your first thought was kidnapped by the mob? That escalated quickly."

Shaking her head with a sigh, her boss pulls Quinn up by the armpits and starts to walk back towards the door.

"No." Quinn says, reaching for her. "Tell me how you knew."

"Rachel called me."

Quinn paused, her eyebrows knitting. "Why would-"

Her boss turns slowly to face her. The glow of the phone casts shadows across her face, reminding Quinn of stories told around campfires long ago, when things were simpler.

"Because Rachel has been rubbing shoulders with powerful people for a long time. And powerful people know me. So, it was either come here voluntarily or she was going to ruin my business, beat the shit out of me, and make a trade for you. She painted a mean picture, I'll be honest, and that's coming from someone with my upbringing."

Quinn furrows her eyebrows, trying to piece together this new information.

"Your upbringing?"

"What's my name, Q?"

"Nikki Malone."

"Remember when you moved here and you wanted to do that big piece on the mob because you thought it would be cool and I told you it was all rumor and myth..."

Quinn watches the woman as she inspects her split eyebrow, licking her thumb and touching it gently.

"Oh yeah the Maroney daughter, Nic-Oh my God you're Nicole Maroney! You've been under my nose the whole time!"

Meeting her eyes solemnly, Nicole nods her head, snorting.

"Exactly. Some reporter you are. To think I pay you to do this stuff."

Quinn's mind is reeling as her boss brushes the dirt off her slacks and turns back to the door, heels clicking.

"How- Rachel knew?"

"Never underestimate that woman, Q. Ever." Pausing to open the door quietly, she checks the hallway before shutting it and fishing into her pocket. Her car keys jingle once as she presses them sharply into Quinn's palm, forcing her hand around them with her own. "Listen to me, Q. This is important."

Searching in the low light, Quinn finds Nicole's eyes, staring daggers into her own.

"My father's business is not kind and my actions tonight will not go unpunished. No matter what happens, you must keep Rachel safe. She is the only one who can bring him down."

Quinn nods, surprised by the sheer disgust on Nicole's face. In all the hours she'd spent with this woman, learning from her, molding herself in a similar fashion, she'd never noticed the heavy guilt sitting on her shoulders. But here in the basement of her father's house, the tired sadness shrouding her features is all too clear.

"This is between my Dad and Rachel, but in a way, it's between all of us. Her plan...it's good. If we ever want to truly be free again, we have to see this through."

"Boss," Quinn says, reaching for the woman's shoulder. "Come with me. You don't have to do this. I can talk to Rachel."

Nicole smirks, reaching up to squeeze Quinn's hand on her shoulder, but it does little to camouflage the spark of fear in her eyes.

"I still have a few cards I need to play in my hand, Quinn. And besides, I'm Daddy's little girl, what's the worst that could happen?"

Quinn breathes quietly, knowing the answer all too well, as she closes her lips together in a tight line. With a curt nod, the women share their moment of kinship then move on to the next. Her boss opens the door and shoves her in one direction as she turns towards the other, her demeanor back to the powerhouse she's used to seeing in the office. Quinn spares a second to smile at the retreating form before slipping down the hallway and up the stairs to the garage they'd dragged her through just a day ago. It's funny how time in the Maroney house had a habit of standing still. As each footstep took her closer to freedom, Quinn couldn't help but wonder if maybe stillness wasn't such a bad thing right now.

What the future would bring was starting to feel a lot more terrifying with each passing hour.

 

* * *

 

She drives around Santana and Brittany's block no less than forty times before she feels safe enough to enter their parking garage. Hoping with all her being that Rachel had had enough sense about her to not go home after her kidnapping, she sighs in relief when she spots Brittany and Santana's cars side by side in their spots, knowing the only reason the girls would ever skip work is to help Rachel…or to keep her together.

Parking in the guest spot, Quinn pulls a ball cap down low on her face and shrugs on the jacket in the passenger's seat before exiting quickly for the staircase. When she gets to Santana and Brittany's floor she realizes the mob still has her keys and her phone, and she curses loudly.

How is she supposed to get all those contacts again? God damn mob!

Knocking quietly on the door, she hears Santana gasp from the other side of the peep hole before throwing it open and ripping her into the room. The door is shut and dead bolted and then Santana is facing her and opening her arms wide.

"She's here, Q. She's safe."

The first hot tear spills down Quinn's face on reflex as she steps into Santana, trembling in the support of her embrace. Santana squeezes her tightly, resting her cheek against her head as she soothes her with gentle words, and Quinn cries, the worry that's weighed her down all night slowly slipping off her with each tear that falls. She feels Brittany press up against her back and, sandwiched between them, finally lets the exhaustion she's been fighting settle in.

She must have done something right in her life; she sure has some amazing people in it.

"Quinn?"

Speaking of… the somber whisper draws all three's attention as Rachel steps into the doorway at the end of the hallway, falling quietly against the frame with a relieved face and red rimmed eyes.

"Oh Quinn. Thank goodness."

The tears start fresh as they start towards each other, collapsing together in the middle of the floor. Rachel pushes the blood matted hair away from Quinn's face, touching her face softly with her finger tips.

"My God, what did they do to you."

Quinn chuckles and kisses her deeply, grimacing against the pain in her split lip. She pulls back and sets their foreheads together.

"And here, I thought it was an improvement."

Rachel catches Brittany and Santana slinking off into the kitchen out of the corner of her eye and, giving up all sense of humility, she pushes Quinn back on the floor and crawls on top of her, pressing their bodies together. Chest to chest, she looks down, cupping Quinn's face in her hands and smiles, a full on, mega watt Rachel Berry smile.

"I love you." She says, eliciting a smile from Quinn in return. Tucking a knotted blonde strand of hair behind her ear, Rachel's heart aches at the battered bruises and swelling along her creamy skin.

So many battle scars and they've only been together a few weeks. The best weeks she's ever had. All the things this crazy girl has done for her, she couldn't begin to repay.

But...she would try.

"Marry me."

Quinn chokes beneath her, forcing Rachel off as she turns to cough, her chest heaving. Rachel pounds her back delicately, trying not to hurt her more.

"You don't have to be dramatic Quinn. Just say no!"

"No." Quinn sputters, waving away her hands. Rachel knows the anguish is written all over her face.

Of course, no. She would never deserve-

"No- not- Rach!" Grasping for her wrists, Quinn pulls the brunette with the carefully hidden face towards her. "No as in not no! Yes! One thousand times, yes!" She adds, pressing Rachel's open palms against her chest. Rachel's eyes well at the feel of her heart beating firmly there against her hands… beating for her. Quinn nods her head enthusiastically, her face splitting into a smile.

"God, Rachel Berry, with all my heart, yes."

Rachel's sure the squeal Quinn makes as she tackles her to the ground is seventy percent from intense throbbing pain, but the other part, she thinks, smothering the blonde's face with kisses, the other part is definitely from joy.


	10. Carrying On

They knew the moment couldn't last forever, but tucked under the blankets in Santana and Brittany's guest room, Rachel and Quinn found each other again, lost in gentle touches and whispered dreams. Rachel runs her fingers through Quinn's hair as she sleeps soundly on her chest, tangled in the sheets, the first light of morning just starting to shine through the small round window.

She wishes she could sleep so soundly.

The plan was in motion now, but whether it would work... Rachel hoped so. And at this point, hope would have to do.

She chuckles quietly at the soft gurgle against her breast and Quinn raises her head slowly, wincing in pain. Rachel cups her face gently, pressing a lingering kiss to the bruise over her eye.

"Go back to sleep, babe. It's barely morning."

Quinn yawns and pulls herself face to face with Rachel, nuzzling behind her ear with her nose.

"I love you, Boo."

Rachel feels the shiver run straight up her spine as Quinn's teeth sink into her earlobe and tug. Now she definitely wouldn't sleep. With a quiet groan she flips over on top of her, stretching her upper body to drag her nipples lazily against Quinn's. She feels the heat pool against her leg the minute it slips between the blonde's and gasps at Quinn's readiness. When Quinn chuckles and nips the side of her neck then sucks heartily on her collarbone, Rachel's not far behind. Quinn's hand squeezes down between their bodies, her finger tracing up the inside of Rachel's thigh.

She slips the finger back up and into her mouth, moaning quietly against Rachel's chest.

"Fuck Rachel, you taste so good."

Rachel hips buck against her at the sound of her name.

"Please, Quinn," she whispers, feeling silly for being the girl who begs. But then Quinn's hands are back on her, lifting her hips and spreading her legs to pull her up the bed until she's straddling the blonde's stomach. Leaning up, Quinn captures her nipple between her teeth, thrusting her stomach up and into Rachel's clit. Rachel's head falls back as she moans loudly, and Quinn covers her mouth with her hand and laughs.

"Rachel!"

"Consider it payback for all the times we've hear them. Now touch me."

Reaching her other hand around to grip Rachel's ass, Quinn thrusts up again, slower, the sheen of Rachel's excitement reflecting in a path down her abs as she pushes against her hips, sliding her down towards her own heat. Rachel groans as they brush against each other, riding in a rhythm all their own. Tangling her hands in Quinn's hair she meets her lips, smiling into a kiss as the blonde holds her snugly in place,  grinding up against her.

As the sun slips slowly above the horizon, the girls fall away from the world, collapsing together on the bed as the slow burning waves ebb through them, soft skin and beating hearts.

Raising her head to press a kiss against Quinn's jaw, Rachel sighs contently.

"I love you, too."

"Yeah yeah we all love each other," Santana calls, banging on the door. "If you two are done defiling our guest room, we'd love to see your shining faces at the table."

Chuckling, Quinn pulls the covers up over both of their heads shoots and Rachel an impish grin.

"Maybe she'll think we fell asleep."

"Maybe she'll break down this door and yank you out by your feet! Up, assholes! B's making breakfast!"

Flipping back the covers, Rachel sits up, swiping her hair out of her face.

"We'll be right out, Santana."

Quinn reaches for her hand on the mattress, lacing their fingers together, and smiles up at her sadly. She'd only just got her back, and now she would be leaving again, their respite broken for the time being.

"I miss you already." Rachel turns and tugs her closer, nuzzling her nose against the bruising on her face.

Quinn sighs, leaning into it, resting her cheek against the girl's naked shoulder.

"We've made it through the worst, Ray. Just a little bit longer."

Leaning off the bed to pick up her shirt, Rachel pulls it over her head, hair flying everywhere and stands to find pants.

Quinn smiles. Someday would never be soon enough.

After they're both dressed the two head to the kitchen, where Santana sits with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, I don't know who looks worse honestly."

"Shut it, Santana." Quinn mutters, pulling Rachel down into her lap in the kitchen chair. She's going to enjoy every minute she has left with the girl until the Witness Protection Agency takes her away.

Rachel chuckles, pulling two waffles off the stack in the middle of the table and plopping them down on their plate.

"This looks delicious, Brittany. Thank you."

The cell phone on the table rings and the room falls silent.

"I suppose I had better take that." Rachel says, running a hand through Quinn's hair. The blonde follows her with her eyes as she grabs it and heads down the hallway, her quiet hello sounding from the bedroom.

Santana reaches for her hand and squeezes it.

"So..." Quinn starts, returning the squeeze. "Would anyone care to tell me what Rachel's been up to?"

Brittany shrugs, adding another waffle to the stack.

"She showed up here and was a wreck. And then she was all _you had better or I'll have to myself_ and _there's no other way, you'll just have to do it_ on the phone last night. I though maybe she'd called the sex hotline. Santana says that's for lonely people and she really missed you."

Eyeing Santana, Quinn raises an eyebrow. Santana shrugs.

"I don't know, Q. She just said that, once you get back she is going into custody. She didn't say how or when you would get here, she just somehow knew you would. I mean she's part elf, right? Don't they have magic? I don't know."

So, Rachel did have a plan then. Quinn would like to think that would have settled her stomach a little but the last run in with the Maroney's was way too close for comfort. Her boss had told her to make sure Rachel would be safe... Witness Protection is probably the best option... even if she didn't trust them or Rachel when she was in full on scheme mode for that matter.

She couldn't help but feel like everything came together just a little too easily.

"So, we just let her go with them and then, what, nothing? We hear nothing, we know nothing until after the trial? I don't like it, guys."

Santana shrugs, feeding Brittany a piece of her waffle as she gets up and heads to the kitchen.

"Maybe the less we know, the better. She's looking out for our safety. You would do the same."

Pushing her plate back, Quinn lifts her coffee mug, pressing it gently against the swelling around her eye with a sigh.

She's right.

"I hate the god damn mob."

Chuckling, Santana raises her mug in the air and takes a sip.

"Cheers to that. If it helps, I think you're making the right choice, Q. Letting her go is the best option she has."

Quinn shrugs.

"You'd do the same for Brit?"

Santana pauses, a small smile playing on her lips as Brittany's voice, singing quietly in the kitchen, carries out to them.

"You bet your ass I would."

"They're going to be here in ten minutes." Rachel says as she comes back into the room, plopping unceremoniously back down in Quinn's lap, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I'll call you every chance I get... And I'll write letters... And I'll think of you all day, I promise."

"I don't think it's going to make it any better," Quinn says, wrapping her arms around Rachel and hugging her close. "But I'll take what I can get."

The knock on the door comes long before she's ready to let go.

"Rachel some guy in a suit is here for you." Brittany says, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "He said he was on the good side so I let him in."

Rachel nuzzles her face into Quinn's neck and kisses it softly, moving up to peck her cheek, and finally her lips. Touching their foreheads together, she runs her fingers down the sides of her face and kisses her again.

"Don't do anything crazy while I'm gone."

Quinn smiles and opens her eyes.

"Right back at you, superstar."

The man in the suit clears his throat as he enters the room, the two girls neatly folded together on the kitchen chair.

"We have to go quickly, Rachel."

"I knowwww, guy. I'm on my way clearly." She says, raising an eyebrow as she flashes him a glare. Turning back to Quinn, she smiles sweetly and kisses her on the nose. "I love you, my fiancee. I'll be in touch soon."

Wrapping her in one last hug, Quinn whispers against her hair.

"And I love you."

As Rachel and the suit exit the apartment, Santana reaches for her hand again and nods, but Quinn can't ignore the weird feeling growing inside her, nibbling at the back of her mind.


	11. Onward and Upward

"QUINN! You can't take weeks off in a row! It's not healthy! We've given you four days! GET UP NOW!"

Grumbling, Quinn rolls over and into a pile of take-out containers stacked on her side of the bed. So what if she took time off work... and didn't shower... or change... or leave this room... Everyone's a critic these days.

"Quinn! NOW!"

Pushing back the covers, Quinn steps out of bed and looks in the mirror, grimacing at the disgusting mess of hair on her head. Maybe a little exercise would be good. Pulling open the bedroom door, Brittany meets her in the hallway with a bowl of fruit loops and a mug of coffee, smiling.

"Good morning, Q. You look ravishing today."

"I think you mean she looks ravished, B. I can smell her from here."

Quinn spoons cereal into her mouth and flips Santana off, grunting as she sits at the table.

"So what's the plan, chief? I mean you're already out of your room, why stop here!"

"I will end your life."

Santana chuckles as she plops down beside Quinn, patting her roughly on the back.

"We set up your office in the living room," Brittany says, refilling Santana's coffee before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Your skype camera is good to go. The witness protection guy said your boss said you can log in whenever you're ready to get back to work."

Sighing, Quinn munches on the soggy cereal and reaches for the morning paper. Nothing about mob murders or missing Broadway starlets. The stories these amateurs were missing out on.

"I guess I have to get back to it some time."

"I mean really, if I could work from the couch in the same pants I've been wearing since Sunday and drool smeared down my neck, I think I'd be a little more excited."

Quirking her lip up in a tight smile, Quinn shrugs.

"I suppose it could be worse... for people who aren't super awesome at their jobs like me."

Chuckling, Santana flicks a fruit loop off Quinn's spoon.

"Yeah, yeah. Good to have you back in the land of the living, Q. Time will fly by once you get back to writing."

Quinn bites back a sigh and crunches on her cereal.

* * *

"Hey Boss."

"Q! I was starting to wonder if I'd ever hear from you." Rotating towards her computer, Nicole Maroney's face fills the screen. "How are things?"

Shrugging, Quinn sips her coffee.

"It's been rough."

Humming in agreement, Nicole stacks a group of folders to the side and folds her hands.

"Agreed. And just for the sake of understanding--you are aware that  you're not to leave that place until after this is over. I had tech put your computer on a rotating I.P. address. There's no way for you to be traced from there. Your entertainment column is being held for this month, so you don't need to find a place to write about. If you need anything from me, you're to contact me via this connection, which I have set to open automatically. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

Smiling, Nicole nods.

"Excellent. Now quit lazing around and do something for me already. I'm not paying you to be a hot mess, Quinn Fabray. Your friend Santana has been keeping me up to date on your...lack of activity."

Growling quietly under her breath, Quinn rolls her eyes.

"I'm on it."

"Fantastic," Nicole adds, reaching for a set of prints in front of her. "I'll talk to you soon, Q."

"You got it," Quinn adds, reaching to click for the end call button. Pausing, she purses her lips. "Hey Boss."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for this."

Turning back to the screen, Nicole watches her and then shrugs.

"Family takes care of each other, Q. Whatever it takes."

Blushing, Quinn nods and clicks end, the warmth in her cheeks reaching all the way to her heart.

* * *

It's been seven days.

Seven long torturous days of writers block and the living room couch and waiting for Rachel's plan to come together. Quinn growls quietly under her breath as Santana plops down beside her on the bed, successfully destroying her "me" time with one of Brittany's novels.

"Hey."

"Hm."

"Brit said there was a note on the door when she got home today."

Quinn looks up from her book, pushing her glasses up her nose.

"What did it say?"

"It said Cue 6."

Scrunching her eyebrows together, Quinn stares at her blankly.

"What do you think that means?"

Santana shrugs.

"I have no idea, but it's 5:59 so... I guess we're going to find out?"

The quiet ring of a cell phone in the apartment has both girls running down the hall, pushing each other against the walls.

"Can you tell where it's coming from?"

"Is that the James Bond ring tone?"

"Ohhh aren't they just hilarioussss, I think it's coming from the living room!" Quinn shoves Santana out of the way as she dives for the couch, reaching under the cushion for a small black cell phone. "Hot damn, they're good!"

"Answer it, stupid."

Raising an eyebrow, she looks at Santana, presses the phone to her ear, and hits the answer button.

"Hello?"

"Hi Quinn!" Quinn smiles into the receiver, shooing Santana away as she turns to head back to the bedroom. "Hey, Rach. How's lock down?"

"Horrible! I have to sit in this room with the same guys and they won't let me watch anything I want OR sing. I should have just gone to prison!" She says raising her voice, and Quinn can practically picture her yelling over her shoulder as they ignore her.

"But guess what!" She adds in a whisper.

"What!"

"The guy who came to pick me up, he finally told me his name is Dexter."

"You realize that's probably not real, right? Also, he totally planted a phone in our apartment."

"Quinn Fabray, I'm trying to make new friends. It's headway! And I know, he's so sneaky!"

Quinn chuckles, collapsing on to the bed they had last shared.

"I suppose you're right. So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Rachel hums in thought on the other end.

"Dexter needs you to run an errand. Well, not you, since Vince knows your face, but Santana and Brittany would be good."

"Okay..."

"Remember that night those mob men found me at the club and I ran out of there? Well, I never told you but, one of the guys kind of caught me."

Shifting onto her back, Quinn sighs.

"Don't give me _all_  of the details, please. My heart can't take it."

"Right, well, in my escape from him, which let me say was very stealthy and spy-like, I got some of his blood on the clothes I was wearing."

"Rachel, you didn't even have clothes on! I'm wearing the shirt you wore right now!"

"Really? Awww Quinn you're too cute."

Quinn huffs, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, I changed my mind, I want the details."

"I did have some clothes on. Those leather hot shorts and the sheer hose? Well, when I ran out of the back door I turned and took off down the street and they must have separated to find me because there was only one guy. I'll be damned if I didn't kick that same bottle I kicked the night I snuck up on you and he heard me. I turned to run and my heel broke so he caught me. Or more like tackled me... really, he was far too rough considering my size..."

Quinn smirks, rubbing her temple.

"Rach.."

"Anyway, he was on top of me and I reached for that blessed little bottle and cracked him good in the head and out he went. Just like in the movies, Quinn, it was really something. But it was also a mess and there was blood everywhere from the bottle cutting his face. When I squeezed out from under him, it smeared all over me and those clothes are still in my apartment somewhere... or at least we're hoping so."

"Why does he want them? What does that have to do with Vince or you?"

"Dexter says we should try to pin down as many of them as we can, because even when Vince is gone, a new boss will just take his place."

Quinn strains to hear as a muffled man's voice sounds on Rachel's end.

"...Okay... I know, I was just--okay!...Quinn, darling, I'm going to have to go."

"Breaking the rules, again?"

"I told you prison would be better, didn't I? I love you, boo."

Quinn smiles, relishing in Rachel's voice, wherever she is.

"And I love you, babe. We'll take care of the clothes. Don't worry."

"I never do. We'll be in touch soon. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Rachel." Quinn says, clicking the end button on the phone and tossing it across the room. "SANTANAAA!"

Two more weeks, Fabray, two more weeks.

* * *

"Holy shit Quinn you weren't joking when you said trashed."

"Yeah," Quinn says, grabbing at the trash bag. She noses through it, noting the dark smears across the clothes with a nod. "Sending a message must be a class in mob school. We got it loud and clear."

"I brought this too," Brittany smiles, handing Quinn the torn picture of Rachel's dads. "I figured we could start her new home here while she's away."

Quinns smiles and pulls her into a one-armed hug, holding the two parts in her hand. Yes, that's exactly what they should do. Rachel would need normal when all of this finally blows over.

"Thank you, Brit. Very thoughtful."

"So how do we get these to them? Is there a secret owl here somewhere too that's gonna carry them off?" Santana starts, lifting up the chair cushion with a curious look. "They kind of dropped the ball on that one."

"Rachel said they'd be in touch," Quinn says, setting the bag on the table. "So I guess, we keep on waiting."

Brittany sighs, resting her head against Santana's shoulder. After a beat, she looks up again and shrugs.

"Can we wait and make pizza? I'm starving."

Chuckling, Quinn squeezes her arm and heads to the kitchen, the bag of evidence on the table not sitting particularly well with her. Maybe cooking will keep her mind off it.

"Pepperoni?"

"Do pigs fly, Quinn? Of course, I want pepperoni."

The sound of Santana kissing Brittany with a laugh had Quinn singing quietly under her breath as she pulled out the flour.

* * *

The phone rang a few days later while the girls were eating breakfast and Brittany and Santana gripped each others hands under the table while Quinn wasn't looking. The anxiety in the apartment had been growing, none of them able to fully ignore the single black bag screaming silently from the corner of the room. The meeting was to be attended by all of them, a final sit down to get on the same page before the trial began, and scheduled a week in advance at a coffee shop they had each walked past a dozen times but never noticed; the perfect place for brunch with the feds. Rachel was excited at the chance to see Quinn again, but in the days that followed the call the nervous butterflies left Quinn unfocused and grumpy, with bags big enough to carry her groceries in under her eyes.

Four minutes and eighteen seconds on the phone with Rachel was enough to get her through to the meeting.

And from there, she couldn't say. 


	12. Crash and Burn

"Hey Dexter."

"Just because I gave you a name does not mean you can pester."

"It's been weeks, Dexter, surely you know what coffee I like by now."

"Is this implying that you would like a beverage, Miss Berry?"

"Oh why yes, Dexter! That would be lovely, thank you." Smiling fondly, Rachel bats her eyes as he rolls his and stands, weaving between tables to the barista.

She's really taken quite a liking to the Witness Protection guys, even if they won't give her their actual names. Or let her watch her shows. Or sing along with her even though she's tried to teach them harmony. A week from now, she'd say there's almost a chance she'd miss them post-trial, but she'd be getting her fiancee back, so it's highly unlikely she'd have time to miss anyone with all the... important talks... they need to catch up on.

Sighing, she traces the button on her shirt, smiling to herself as Dexter heads back to the table, drink in hand.

"Oh for goodness sake, she'll be here in five minutes. I don't even have to ask who you're thinking about with that goofy look on your face." He says, setting the cup down in front of her. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a packet and sits down. "One pack or two today?"

"Just one please."

They sit in silence as he stirs it in. She knows he's not overly happy that she's here in this position, but she'd agreed and he'd have to live with it.

Secretly, she's pretty sure he kind of likes her, too.

"Do you think she's going to look different?"

"It's not even been a month, Rachel."

"She's the love of my life!"

"Barely three weeks."

Huffing, she drinks her coffee and hums in satisfaction.

"Well, even if you're awful at girl talk, you're excellent at making my coffee, Dex."

"Joy," he says with a sarcastic smile, pulling his seat in next to hers. "Let's just get this done and get you back to the house. I'm antsy sitting out here."

"You're antsy? At least you don't have to wear this shirt," Rachel says, then stops, her heart pounding as she catches a glimpse of blonde passing the window.

"Drink up, Rach," Dexter says, standing to address the girls as the bell above the door jingles. Rachel knocks her drink back and jumps up, spreading her arms towards the trio of girls entering the cafe. Quinn's mega watt smile blinds her as she steps into the building behind Santana and Brittany.

"Rachel."

Her Quinn. Finally.

It takes everything she has not to just jump the table as she shoves Dexter out of her way. Quinn laughs in return, slinking around Brittany and Santana.

The bullet hits her above the belly button.

Rachel jolts at the shock, clutching at her middle as the second shot hits her in the breast. The pain, it's... the weight of it... she reaches for a chair as she staggers backwards, her hands barely brushing its cool wooden frame as she falls onto the linoleum. The sounds, the pounding in the floor, in her chest, if she could only...

Tipping her head to the side, she coughs violently, the pain searing for a second, and then gone. The pounding bounces around in her head, mixing with a terrorized scream somewhere above her. Or is she screaming? No, no. It's Quinn, she thinks, the sheen of the lights off of her blonde hair radiant, like the sun on a lake in the morning.

Quinn.

"Rachel nooo...noo please.. don't... Rach...oh God it's.. it's everywhere..."

She wants to shake her. To hug her as her tears drip down onto her face, trailing hot little rivers over her cheeks. Why won't she kiss me, Rachel wonders, the thumping in her head starting to quiet. The pressure wells up in her chest and she arches up a little, gasping against it. She feels the stickiness of her shirt catching against her skin, Quinn's hands gently lifting her head to sit in her lap.

"Call 911! Please! SOMEONE!"

"Why is Santana..."

Rachel starts, stopping as Quinn grips her hand in both of her own, pressing it against her lips and kissing it roughly. Her breath shudders against the brunette's knuckles and she chuckles, reaching for Quinn's face, but her arm's too heavy to move. Everything is too heavy.

"Quinn..."

"Shh shh, Rach baby," she says, her hazel eyes filling Rachel's vision. So sad. Rachel sighs as Quinn nuzzles their noses together, peppering her face in light kisses and whispered I love you's.

Her lips tug up in a smile as her eyes ease shut, the thump in her chest coming to a rest.

* * *

It's chaos.

A small man with dark hair shoots through the windows, glass flying into the cafe, as he flips a table and makes his escape. Quinn doesn't notice the jagged shards cutting across her flesh as she pushes towards Rachel, her stomach twisted in knots. The blood, blossoming across Rachel's shirt, so dark against the stark paleness of her skin, funneling into the grouting of the linoleum, etching perfect little lines of red all around her torso...

it's everywhere.

"Oh god."

She knows. She knows even before she touches the girl, that it's done. Their little plan. Her hopes and dreams. Her Rachel.

It's done.

And in their last moments together, Quinn does what she can to ease the pain, wishing more than anything that she could hug her love so tight, so very tight, that the pain would seep right out of Rachel and into her. But she can't. And as those brown eyes slip behind eyelids for the last time, Quinn settles her forehead quietly against Rachel's.

"Why."

It's nothing more than a whisper, but the whole room stills. She feels somebody, Santana, choking quietly on tears, pulling her up from the puddle of blood she's sitting in. Turning her head away from the girl, she finds Dexter, staring in shock at the body, and points.

"You did this." The pain in his face deepens as his eyebrows knit together, clearly coming to terms with exactly that, and Quinn growls at the recognition, pushing away from Santana.

"You brought her here," she mutters, stalking towards him. Pressing his fingertips to his eyes, she hears him catch his breath. "You were supposed to protect her, Dexter."

And then she's in front of him, and her hands are on his shoulders, and his brown eyes aren't Rachel's, never will be, and Quinn knows, he's not really to blame.

"Why!" Quinn sobs, falling against him, pounding his chest with her fists. "Why was she even here? Why couldn't we keep her safe?"

Grimacing, he grabs at her wrists and hold them in place as she shudders violently, her forehead resting on his sternum. Setting his chin on her head, Dexter sighs tiredly, and reaches into his back pocket for a cell phone.

"I'm not going to stop fighting for her, Quinn. I won't. She didn't... she didn't die for nothing.."

And then she's in Santana's arms again, wrapped up tight as he speed dials, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah we need a clean up at 9th and Madison. Make it quick."

They come. White men in white overalls are in and out in ten minutes. The floor sparkles like brand new, Rachel's body off to who knows where in a Pete's Painting cargo van. Quinn clenches and unclenches her hands, willing herself to breath, to stay calm for now, when so much has to be done.

"You let me know where she's going." She whispers towards Dexter, her eyes shut. Hands touch her face and she flinches away from the kind eyed EMT reaching tenderly for the bloody cuts and stray glass shards. The last time she was in this position, Rachel's eyes were kind, and her hands were tender.

A little ball of rage lights deep in her chest. Rachel's dead for a bag of clothes.

"Quinn you need to see a doctor about-"

"No." She growls, reaching for the bag of evidence off the floor and tossing it at his chest with a cold stare. "You got what you need..."

She's out the door before anyone can stop her, but her parting words send a chill down Dexter's spine.

"I'm going to get mine."


	13. Aftermath

"Quinn! What a pleasant surprise!" Vince says, chuckling as he throws his arms in the air. "Do come in! May I get you something to drink?"

"Stop talking."

Feigning the zipping of his lips with his finger, Vince grins and settles into his chair, folding his hands on his stomach.

"My someone is testy today."

Quinn can practically feel the smoke radiating off her skin as she walks from the doorway to his desk, Maroney's men moving out of the way as she approaches. By the chair next to the desk she stops suddenly, her breath stealing from her chest as her eyes widen.

The man from the coffee shop was chatting away with other guys over cigars like he hadn't spent the afternoon putting bullets in someone's chest.

"Ah," Vince says, gesturing to the man. "I see some introductions are in order. Miss Fabray this is my right hand man Leo. Always dependable that Leo, always. I see you've met."

Leo turns at his name and notices Quinn, standing to try to shake her hand.

"Pleasure."

Quinn turns back to Maroney and explodes.

"How dare you. To... _murder_ someone, so young, and so talented... how dare you steal her away from the rest of the world. She was special. She was so special. And now she's gone."

Vince nods then sighs, his lips tight.

"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Quinn."

Slamming both hands down on his desk, Quinn leans towards him as the men in the room reach for their hand guns.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Vince, don't play with me. The rising Broadway star? The burlesque extraordinaire?" She digs her index finger into his chest. "The lynch pin in your court case? My _wife_ , Vince? None of these ring a bell?"

Raising an eyebrow, he wraps his hand around Quinn's finger and curls it back into her fist.

"Those are some awfully large accusations you're throwing around there, Miss Fabray. Surely, a reporter knows she needs to check her facts first."

"You killed my future, Maroney. Do you _really_ think I'm here on the job right now."

Standing slowly, Vince looks down on Quinn as she leans over his desk.

"No one comes into my home and attacks me, no matter who-"

"YOU SAY HER NAME!" Quinn screams, knocking the books off his desk. Lowering her voice, she seethes, staring him down. "Say her name, Maroney."

"What happened to Rachel Berry is not my fault."

The loud crack of Quinn's palm meeting his cheek is the last straw. Her arms are yanked behind her and she's fairly certain her shoulder is out of place as she's dragged from the room by three men, Vincent Maroney's focused glare following her, the slight purple swell of a hand print already starting to show on his face.

"You'll get yours, Maroney." She screams, struggling against the men. "I swear on her grave yours is coming."

"STOP!" Maroney yells, the room falling silent. He takes a slow breath, then motions someone forward from the corner.

Quinn's mouth drops open.

Her boss steps up to him, handing him a drink as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

"Nicole?"

She nods, watching Quinn evenly.

"Family takes care of each other, Q."

Quinn shakes her head as the woman stares her down cooly, completely emotionless.

"...You make me _sick_."

As Nicole raises an eyebrow Vince clears his throat.

"I'm sorry that you have lost your family, Quinn, as it seems you are the one who has brought mine back to me. For that, I will let you go today." Smiling lovingly down at his daughter, he then turns back to Quinn, fixed between the three men in the doorway. "But consider us even. If you put your nose in my business again, you'll be meeting your wife for dinner. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

The rough texture of the bricks adds injury to insult as she's thrown on her ass on the steps, the front doors slamming shut behind her.

Picking herself up, she pulls out her cell phone and hits end.

Game on.

* * *

"So she was there? That bitch."

"Santana."

"Sorry Brit. That witch."

The recording muffles as voices raise.

"Do you think it's enough?" Santana says, pulling her knees to her chest.

"It'll be enough for the jury to take Quinn's point of view seriously." Dexter says, hitting the stop button on the recorder. Quinn sighs as she leans back, squeaking on the leather of the safe house couch. "With this, Quinn's testimony, the interviews with Rachel on tape, the bloody clothes, if we can get those guys to turn... it could be enough to put Maroney away."

Pushing his glasses up on top of his head, he rubs his eyes.

"It's really too close to call, girls."

Quinn rolls her head onto Santana's shoulder, watching the light as it flickers over the desktop.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Dexter says, pulling out the case file to review. "The morning will be here before we know it. There's still a lot to prepare in the few days we have left."

As he took the file and left the room, the girls cuddle into each other on the couch, but there's no comfort to be had; no matter how they turn, something is always missing.


	14. Order in the Court

Quinn knew this was a high profile case after Dexter's briefing, but the breath still catches in her chest as she follows Brittany through the heavy court room door and into the measured stares of hundreds in seats around her. More than she had expected. As she moves to the first row behind the Prosecutor's desk, the looks become questions, rumbling like quiet thunder.

Who are these girls... How could they possibly be involved with Vincent Maroney...

"My God you'd think they'd never seen a couple of homos before."

Quinn can't help the snort that shoots out as Santana folds her legs one over the other beside her, raising an eyebrow at the faces peering down from the balcony above. The court room is large and impressive, a simple meeting of ornately carved stone, rich maroon walls, and high ceilings. If it wasn't used for law it would make a beautiful library.

And what horrible stories this beautiful room could probably share.

Tugging briefly at the collar of her shirt... well, Rachel's shirt... she swallows the lump in her throat and tries not to feel like an object on display.

"Do you think they'll give us peanuts?"

Chuckling, Santana reaches behind Quinn and tugs at a piece of Brittany's hair.

"I don't think so, babe."

The prosecutor pushes through the back door with his aides flurrying around him, a tall and clean cut man with a quick smile and the first peppering of gray around his temples. To the greater public of New York, George Newell was an authentic knight of justice, known for his success on the floor against even the toughest of crooks, driven by a cool stare and a brilliant confidence born in knowing he's on the right side of the law.

Running a hand down the front of his blue checked tie, George sets his briefcase on the prosecutor's desk and gives each girl a firm handshake.

"Good morning ladies."

His hand barely leaves Brittany's before the back door is swinging open again and Maroney is walking in, his lawyer and six of his men crowded around him. His eyes seem to find Quinn's immediately, a small smirk playing quietly on his lips.

Bastard.

"Hey." Santana's face fills her vision as she slips her fingers into Quinn's closed fist, rubbing them slowly against the four crescent shapes indentations her nails leave in the palm. "We'll get him on the stand, Q. Don't let him get in your head already."

Flaring her nostrils, Quinn releases the breath she hadn't known she was holding and nods. That's exactly what they'll do.

The chair behind the defense table scrapes quietly against the floor as Maroney moves to sit, his lawyer setting his briefcase down. He pulls a stack of files from it and lays them neatly on top the dark wood, straightens the knot of the tie in his collar, and smooths down the front of his sweater, clearing his throat.

If George Newell is the city's white knight of justice, Charles Burton is the dark, and no, not like Batman. Born and raised in the deep south, Burton is an aristocrat turned defense lawyer, known for getting his way come hell or high water. From a long string of wealthy accused of murdering their spouses to New York's toughest, Burton's clients come running when their necks are on the line, knowing the tenacious man would use his sweet southern charm and every tooth and nail he's got to fight for the innocence of a client until the very end. If George had a court nemesis, Burton was it. Some called him a legend, others called him a shark, but, no matter what, you could bet that, when accused of a serious crime, those with a few spare million would call Burton every time.

"Good mornin' to ya, George." He drawls, reaching in the space between the counsels' desks to shake his hand.

"Morning, Charles. Nice to see you as always."

"Reckon so."

As they turn to face front a final person slips in the court room, sending Quinn grabbing at Santana's wrist as she growls deep in her throat.

Nicole moves quietly through the space, her hair pulled into a tight bun and her shoulders back, but her eyes studying the granite tile. Quinn feels the little ball of rage behind her eyes start to simmer as she catches the woman and Maroney exchange a quiet smile. Smoothing out her dress, she sits a row behind the girls on the defense side, never once looking their direction.

"All rise."

The quiet murmurings in the courtroom cease as the judge enters from his quarters, flanked on either side by a uniformed guard.

"Be seated."

The judge folds his hands on the bench before him and smiles.

"My goodness what a full house we have! Now," shifting quietly in his chair he pulls a paper from his desk and adjusts his glasses, his voice booming through the cavernous room. "Today we will be hearing the case of the State versus Vincent Maroney. Counsel, welcome." He nods, setting the paper back down. "A few rules before we begin..."

Quinn sits a little straighter as the judge takes in the bystanders.

"In this room, I am God. Actually this is probably the only room where I get to be God--ask my wife-- so, I take it very seriously. Mr. Maroney is of great interest to the public of New York, I think we can all agree, but, as far as I'm concerned, the facts will flow as they do and only at the very end of this day will we know how this case will fall. I expect you to treat each other with respect. This is not a zoo and I will remove anyone who interrupts these proceedings immediately."

Raising his line of sight, he points to a group of protestors in the balcony, various defamations of Maroney's face printed on their t-shirts.

"Speaking of, all of you need to cover those shirts or leave my court room."

Quinn doesn't turn her head, but she hears the quiet shuffling as coats are shifted and seats squeak.

This guy means business.

"Wonderful. Let's have a good day everyone."

As the judge pulls a stack of papers in front of him, George stands, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

"This is case number CB-0813. In the name and by the authority of the State of New York, presented to the Grand Jury and Your Honor on this day, that in New York City, Vincent Maroney, hereafter called the defendant, on or about the eighteenth of August, did then and there intentionally and knowingly cause the death of Melanie Michaels, hereinafter called the plaintiff, by setting the plaintiff on fire. For this act, the defendant is charged with First Degree Murder."

"Defendant," the judge says, turning towards Maroney. "How do you plead?"

"Not guilty, Your Honor."

"Very well. Let the prosecution begin it's opening statement."

* * *

Quinn knew this would be hard, but every time a new witness takes the stand, her stomach ties itself in another knot. They'd examined and cross examined again and again, detectives in the case, relatives, character vouchers for both sides. At one point one of Maroney's men took the stand and called him out, backing the prosecution. Quinn could almost hear the grinding of Maroney's teeth on that one. But all in all, she couldn't tell if the Grand Jury was swaying either way. She knew that, though it had been four hours already, there was still a lot of daylight left and, as George says, they always save the best for last. So she held on to hope and to Santana and Brittany's hands, because, really, what else did she have?

As the detective stepped down from the stand, George stood up and Brittany squeezed her fingers tight.

"I'd like to call Quinn Fabray to the stand."

And just like that, her time had come.

Standing, Quinn approaches the bench focused entirely on keeping her feet from shaking right out of her shoes.

"Do you, Quinn Fabray swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

Taking a deep breath, Quinn nods, the soft leather of the Bible beneath her palm.

"I do."

She is granted a few minutes on the stand to compose herself, taking a quick sip of water. She looks up and all eyes are upon her. George gives her a gentle smile as he moves towards her.

"Quinn. Tell me, did you ever come in contact with the plaintiff, Miss Melanie Michaels?"

"I did not."

She catches Burton's eyebrows furrow as he scans over the prosecution's witness sheet.

"I see. And how exactly did you come to be at Vincent Maroney's house on the night of January sixth?"

"He kidnapped me."

"Objection, Your Honor," Burton says, standing. "Vincent Maroney was clearly eating out that evening. I have restaurant footage to cover it."

"Sustained," the judge says, looking over the evidence log. "Get to your point, George."

"Was it Maroney who kidnapped you, Quinn?"

"No," Quinn shakes her head, kicking herself for sounding like a liar already. "It was Maroney's men. They took me to his house."

"And then what happened?"

She catches Santana's eye and stays there, recalling that evening in her mind.

"I was taken from a street corner and knocked out. I woke up in a small cellar in Maroney's basement where I was beaten and harassed. Threats were made against my loved ones. I was told that I was being used as bait to blackmail my fiancee; that she had offered to pull her testimony in this case in exchange for my life. They beat me until I blacked out again. When I came to, I was alone and in bad shape. I kept thinking..."

Quinn searches for the words, wringing her hands together.

"I kept hoping that Rachel wouldn't come because I just knew they were going to hurt her. I would have taken her place," she says, staring at Vince with her eyebrows furrowed. "I would have taken her place in a second, but, in the end it didn't matter. Nicole Maroney cut me loose and snuck me out, gave me the keys to her car and the time I needed to make a clean getaway."

"I see. And for the jury's sake, what is your relation to Nicole Maroney?"

"She's my boss."

A murmuring of interest went through the court room.

"What happened after you left Maroney's home that day?"

Sighing, Quinn runs a hand through her hair, pushing her bangs off to the side.

"I went to my friend Santana's because I knew Rachel couldn't go home and she couldn't go to my place. She was there. She dressed my wounds and took care of me. We made a plan with Witness Protection to get her away safely until the trial. I was going to stay at Santana's so Maroney couldn't try another stunt like that."

George nods, turning slowly towards the jury.

"If you would please turn on the projector."

The slow whir of the projector starting is soothing, until the screen lights up with a picture of Quinn's face, marred with deep bruising and swollen knots. She hears the gallery gasp, looking between her on the stand and the picture for comparison.

"Quinn is an example of what Vincent Maroney can do, my friends. Look at that face. That was done to an innocent bystander; a pawn to help Maroney get what he wanted. Attained, broken, then thrown away, just like Melanie Michaels."

"Objection," Burton calls. "Lack of foundation."

"I'll let it slide." The judge says, watching Quinn as she struggles to keep her face neutral.

George paces slowly, letting Burton's clear discomfort settle on the jury for a minute.

"You see," he says, turning. He reaches to pat the top of Quinn's hand then walks towards the jury. "Mr. Maroney is very smart. He wasn't the one to hurt Quinn because he knows enough to keep his hands clean when he can. But sometimes... sometimes when he wants something done right, Mr. Maroney does take care of it himself."

Flipping back to Quinn, George fires off a question, yelling.

"Quinn Fabray did your fiancee witness the murder of Melanie Michaels at the hand of Vincent Maroney."

"Yes."

"And where is your fiancee now, Quinn?"

"She's-" Quinn gasps, the word caught for a second with the unexpected flare of pain in her heart.

Whispering quietly, she sets her palm against it.

"She's dead."

Nodding slowly, George watches her, letting the silence in the court room speak for itself.

"Nothing further, Your Honor."

* * *

Since George had thoroughly illustrated Quinn wasn't a witness nor a victim at Vince's hands, the cross examination turned out to be relatively painless and did little for Maroney's side. Quinn was thankful for that because, honestly, she didn't know if she could take anything else unexpected. She shoots Santana a meek smile, knowing that her witness testimony is next, and takes a deep breath, drying her sweaty palms against the fabric of her pants. She can feel the burn of Maroney's glare burrowing into the side of her head and turns to face him, his lip curled back, clearly displeased with Burton's work so far.

She feels a little better just watching him stew.

"If you're ready Your Honor, we'd like to call our next witness to the stand."

"By all means, George."

Quinn doesn't register the doors in the back of the courtroom opening, but she does notice Vince pale immediately. Looking up, she sees Dexter in his usual black suit and scoffs, then double takes as he steps aside.

Rachel Berry is behind him, her big brown eyes brimming with emotion.

Quinn actually feels her insides shift back into life as she gasps, reaching for her throat, choking on her own gratefulness.

"Quinn."

With the sound of Rachel's voice her heart flutters recklessly against her ribcage and the room slips slowly away, the tender tracings of a smile set upon her lips.


	15. As the Lights Go Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank-you for reading! I hope you enjoyed!! x-leanmean

"Maybe we should slap her. Does anyone have water? Let's throw it on her."

"Santana, she'll catch her death, get out of the... Santana, so help me I will end you."

Quinn groans as two hands shake her mercilessly.

"Quinn Fabray! Do not go towards the light!"

"She's waking up! Don't beat her head against the floor!"

Quinn furrows her eyebrows against the shock of voices, reaching to cover her eyes.

"S-Santana?"

"That's half of it."

Peeking from behind her fingers, she spies Santana smirking at her then grimaces when she rolls her eyes and pulls Quinn's hand out of the way.

"Look who finally decided to join us, Q."

Blinking rapidly, Quinn turns her head and spies Rachel, hovering over her with the world's goofiest grin.

_Rachel is alive._

Surely this is a dream. Nothing this good could ever happen in real life.

Crying out, she tackles the girl, wrapping her arms around her and pressing her ear against her chest. The steady thump brings tears to her eyes.

"Rachel, baby, how? Where have you been?"

Hushing her quietly with a chaste kiss, Rachel runs her thumbs along her cheekbones, studying Quinn's face with so much intensity, her heart jumps.

"Rach, you're gonna make me pass out again."

Smiling, Rachel kisses her nose and Quinn grips at her hands, pulling her close again.

"I'll tell you after." She says, nuzzling softly into the blonde's collarbone. "There will be plenty of time after."

Breathing in the scent of her, Quinn nods against her head, still reeling over the crazy turn of events.

"Um, guys?" Santana says, standing to brush off her pants. "We should probably get back out there. They were only taking a short recess."

"Where are we?" Quinn says then whines softly as Rachel pulls her to her feet, their hands clasped tightly together.

"Judge's quarters," Santana says, reaching for the door handle. "They went to recess after you spread-eagled. But the sooner we get out there, the sooner this will all be over."

Reaching for the latina's hand, Rachel squeezes it and Quinn's at the same time and the three of them smile like idiots for a minute, unashamed.

The end is in sight.

As Santana opens the door and steps out into the courtroom, Quinn pulls Rachel back into her arms, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

"I love you and I missed you so much."

Digging her fingers into Quinn's shoulders, Rachel buries her face in her chest and breathes deeply, allowing herself a single moment of weakness before pulling back and meeting her eyes.

"Let's make sure you never have to again."

Together, they turn towards the courtroom, determined to take on the only thing that had ever come close to forcing them apart. 

* * *

 

 

Rachel's examination by George had gone really well.

Her cross examination by Burton...well, Quinn would be surprised if he left with all his features with the way Rachel's eye lasers were flashing.

"You see," Burton says, gesturing thoughtfully towards the jury. "This could easily be a case of misidentification. Miss Berry had just finished a very tiring task, both mentally and physically. She was not in a state of full awareness. Experts will tell you that the least reliable evidence in criminal cases is always eyewitness testimony simply because," Burton pauses, as if waiting for a holy truth to arrive. "Everyone's perspective is different."

"I know what I saw Mr. Burton." She interrupts, her nostrils flaring. Quinn cringes, sure the Judge will start banging his gavel for the fifth time in as many minutes.

"You think you know what you saw, Miss Berry, but Mr. Maroney's face is in every paper. Anyone who even resembles him would probably be identified as him simply because his face is easy to recall."

He watches Rachel with a sympathetic nod, his hands setting on his hips.

"I get it, Rachel, I do. It's a very powerful desire to find the person who's responsible when you witness a crime. But just because a person resembles the culprit does not make them guilty."

As Rachel's hand trembles the whole way to her water glass, Quinn sends a quick prayer to the heavens that every person in this room doesn't become a witness to murder today. Setting her glass back down, Rachel takes a deep breath and looks at George. He nods encouragingly.

"What I saw was not a Vincent Maroney look-a-like. It was that man, right there," she says, pointing, the jury following with their eyes. "He had a woman, scared out of her mind, and cornered up against a wall. She screamed in pain and he laughed. And you know what? I can tell you every detail of that night perfectly because I re-live it again and again every time I close my eyes."

Rachel struggles as tears well in frustration.

"I would never testify in a case where I was not one hundred percent sure of the person I was accusing. Every night I see Vincent Maroney in that alley in my dreams. Every single night I hear him laughing, yelling, chasing me, breathing down my neck. He's made my life hell for the last six months... I mean come on! I had to fake _my own death_ just to be here today."

Her voice wavers as she swallows hard, closing her eyes briefly, then opening them to meet Quinn's.

"That man is not only a murderer... he's a monster," she whispers, disgust flickering across her features.

"Whether the jury chooses to believe me or you, Mr. Burton," she adds, turning to face him where he stands, "I know what I've said is the truth."

* * *

 George looks tired as he scans his call sheet, running a hand through his hair. Quinn sighs, wrapping an arm behind Rachel's shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She felt good about the direction the case had taken with Rachel's testimony, the last witness for the prosecution today. At the six and a half hour mark, Burton stands and clears his throat.

"We have a final witness before we would ask the Grand Jury to make their decision, Your Honor."

The Judge finishes writing a note on his legal pad, pushes his glasses up his nose and gestures towards the stand.

"The floor is yours, counselor."

Stepping out from behind his table, he turns to the gallery and calls, "Nicole Maroney, if you would be so kind."

And just like that, Quinn's brow wrinkles in worry. She had thought Nicole was just here for moral support, but, it seems the tides have changed. At one point she would have bet everything that Nicole was on her side, but recent events had proven that, even when you see someone every day... you may never really see them for who they are.

Nicole adjusted her suit jacket as she stood from her seat and approached the bench, her heels echoing loudly in the packed room. Placing a hand on the Bible, she swears in and takes a seat, crossing her legs like Quinn had seen her do a thousand times in board meetings over the years. She looks utterly calm, sure and smooth as the surface of a lake, but Quinn can't help but wonder if there was a little more under the surface than it appeared. _Family takes care of each other_.

Rachel glances at Quinn when she snorts quietly, rolls hers eyes and interlocks their fingers.

"Nicole, let us remind the jury, what is your relation to Mr. Maroney?"

"He's my father." Smiling, Burton nods in acknowledgement. "Was he an important figure in your childhood?"

"He was the _only_ figure in my childhood. My mother passed when I was born and he worked hard to make sure I had everything I needed. I'd say he single-handedly helped mold me into the person I am today."

Quinn rolls her eyes as Burton all but glows with her answer.

"Excellent, just excellent. Tell me now," he says, turning towards the jury. "Does that sound like the kind of man who would murder, in cold blood, a woman his own daughter's age, no less? I, personally," he pauses, flashing a camera worthy smile, "find that very hard to believe."

Turning back to the stand, he holds up his fingers, ticking off words.

"A hard worker. A provider. A role model who molded you into the person you are today. Miss Maroney, what is it that you do?"

"I am the Editor-in-Chief of Lush Magazine."

Raising his eyebrows, Burton mimes surprise, as do many of the jury members.

"That's quite the impressive job, indeed. What skills would you say got you to where you are?"

"Objection, Your Honor," George interrupts, tapping his leg nervously. "Relevance?"

"-There's a point, Your Honor, I swear." Burton says, holding his hands up.

"Get to it, Charles."

"Miss Maroney, please describe the assets that have gotten you to your esteemed position-- the ones that you feel best reflect what you've learned from your father."

"Self-confidence and leadership, organization, drive, and perseverance."

Nicole looks up and, for the first time today, her eyes meet Quinn's directly.

"Loyalty."

Quinn catches just the slightest quirk of her lip.

Unaware, Burton continues on, his arms gesturing towards Mr. Maroney as he paints the picture of an upstanding citizen.

"Loyalty. Yes, that is a big one in this day and age. Families are constantly falling apart and yet here, we have a daughter whose father is charged with murder, a most heinous crime, and she comes and supports him in his time of need. Miss Maroney, how would you describe your relationship with your father?"

Wetting her lips with her tongue, Nicole folds her hands in her lap.

"I believe I would describe it as strained, Mr. Burton."

Burton hesitates for the briefest second, and Quinn smiles, knowing his well written script is about to fall apart in his lap.

"I.. well.." He clears his throat. "Tell me, Nicole, you're familiar with your father's associates. Had you ever heard of a Melanie Michaels?"

"I hadn't," she says, and Burton starts to speak, but she interrupts. "Until she called me the night my father killed her."

The gasp in the court room literally slaps Vince and Burton across the face as they both double take with this new information. _What?_ Even Quinn's mouth hangs open until Rachel pushes it shut with her finger tip.

"You knew?" Quinn whispers into her hair, her eyebrows raised. Nodding, Rachel winks.

"Your Honor, I believe we're done here for-"

"I'd like to hear what she has to say, counselor," the judge says, watching Nicole carefully. "If you wouldn't mind expounding Miss Maroney. You were contacted by Miss Michaels, you say?"

"I was," she says, nodding towards George. "The phone records to prove it are with Mr. Newell if you would like to see."

Taking a sip of water, she continues.

"On the night of August 18th I was working late in my office at Lush. I received a phone call to my private line, to which only Maroney family and a chosen few" she adds, eyeing Quinn, "have the number. I answered it immediately and Miss Michaels was on the other end. She said she had a story for me; that she had all the proof I would need to finally, officially, take my father down."

She stops, looking to the jury.

"You see, I haven't had anything to do with the Maroney's since I graduated college. My father's business is not mine, and I want no part in it."

The judge nods, looking over the phone records.

"And how," he says, looking up, "did you respond to Melanie Michaels?"

Swallowing, Nicole shrugs.

"I was intrigued. I hadn't realized that there was an inside man in the Maroney house or I probably would have partnered with her sooner. You see, Mel was a part of the Gianni's," she gestures towards the jury, "if you don't know, which I hope you don't, the Gianni's are the Maroney's enemy. We've been warring over New York City since the prohibition. The fact that she had not only infiltrated the Maroney mansion but worked there undetected for years... well, even I was impressed... and Miss Fabray can tell you, that's not an easy thing to do."

The jury chuckles at her side smile and Quinn rolls her eyes. Only her boss could turn a murder trial into her own personal talk show. This was the woman she thought she had known. For a second, she almost feels guilty for doubting her.

"So, she called me, knowing my relationship with my family and my position high in the media... but really I think she must have known that people were catching on to her and I was a last hope. At any rate, when I heard her tone I flipped on my work recorder because I knew I would want to check everything she said on my own. Turns out, that was the last conversation Mel ever had. I didn't know at the time, but later, I was contacted by Rachel Berry and upon hearing her story, everything clicked in place."

"If you don't mind," George says, gesturing towards a tape player. "We have a segment of the tape here for the jury to hear."

"Please," the judge says. Burton collapses defeated in his chair as George hits the play button and the courtroom falls silent.

Nicole's voice is smooth and warm in the quiet rustle of the audio tape.

_"Mel, I think I've got it all. I've got to ask, though. Why are you giving me this? This story will take both our families down."_

A lighter voice replies, softer, and Quinn feels Rachel jolt, having finally put a voice to the face that haunts her dreams.

_"...because we're the daughters, Nic. No matter how far we separate ourselves from our fathers, they're still there, watching and waiting. How long will you live looking over your shoulder? If taking out the Gianni and Maroney legacy will give my future children freedom, then I'm willing to take that chance. After all, if we can't stop them, who will?"_

The tape is quiet for a second, then Melanie's voice cuts in, rushed.

_"I have to go. This is your burden now, Nicole. I have a very good feeling that my time with it is about to go up."_

After the soft click of the call ending and a quietly murmured curse word by Nicole the audio recording comes to an end.

"Your Honor," George says, standing. "If I may?"

"Go ahead, counselor."

"Miss Maroney, would you tell the Grand Jury, why did you not take this information to the police?"

Nicole takes a deep breath, pulling herself from her memory of the phone call with Melanie.

"I took the information Mel gave me and did what I had planned to do; I looked into it. After all, I am a Maroney and we're awfully good at slipping through police fingers. I wanted to make sure the case was fool proof. By the time I knew every bit of her story was true, Rachel was calling me and I knew that Melanie was gone and that Miss Berry was now on my father's hit list. So--with a little forceful push from her-- I enlisted in the plan to take down my father."

Nicole turns her face to meet his, the firm set of his lips dark against his pale pallor.

"But there is one thing I don't understand," she continues, studying him, tilting her head to the side. "You knew didn't you?"

Almost imperceptibly, Quinn catches his nod.

"Why didn't you stop me from-"

"-I was torn."

The court room stills as Maroney watches her, his voice, silent until now, raspy in comparison to the girl's.

"I was so proud of you, Nicole. For getting away from it all... from me, even. You were so resolute in not having anything to do with me that I knew, it had to be my downfall that you were back again. But honestly," he says, watching her with a small smile. "You stood up for your idea of family in a way that I never stood up for you. If that means going to prison, then that's what I deserve. It's high time I own up to my mistakes, not being the father that you deserved among them."

Nicole nods solemnly, her eyes never leaving her father's.

"Well, if that is it," the judge says, closing his binder. "I believe it's time the jury makes its decision." 

* * *

"In the case of the State of New York versus Vincent Maroney, the jury finds the defendant guilty."

Quinn smiles as Rachel's face lights up, trembling in the sudden rush of joy that has her squeezing the girl's hand with all her might.

Finally.

"After today's events," the judge says, his fingers folded together on top of the bench, "I've made a slight change to the sentencing for Mr. Maroney."

Handing a paper to the prosecutor's aide, George reads over it quickly before beckoning Rachel and Nicole over to his desk. Quinn watches intently as they huddle together, each head nodding in turn. The girls return to their seats, Nicole right next to Rachel, as George signs the paper with a flourish and the aide returns it to the judge.

"With the agreement of the prosecuting party," the judge begins, reading from the paper George signed. "I hereby sentence you, Vincent Maroney, to 25 years in prison, after which, you may be considered for parole. That will put you at the ripe age of 82 and, thanks to the work of a few brave people here today, maybe you'll have some grandchildren to meet who will live in a world free of the Maroney mob wars."

Standing as the arresting officer approaches, Vince looks first at the judge and then to Nicole.

"I hope so, Your Honor."

The officer leads him from the court room in cuffs as the judge stands, pounding the gavel three times.

"In the case of the State versus Vincent Maroney, the court is adjourned." 

* * *

"So, its some sort of, actually I guess it's a poison, right Dex? It's in a puffer fish and if they give you exactly the right amount, it will let you fake death. You're not actually dead, but it sure does look like it without medical tests because your heart basically stops. I drank that in my coffee right before you guys showed up because if we were going to pull it off, we had to make it look real. Thankfully, Quinn's boss knew exactly who was being sent to take care of me and Leo was known for one in the stomach, one in the chest. I wore a special bulletproof shirt with blood packets everywhere and everything just sort of came together! Isn't it great!"

Clapping her hands once, Rachel beams at the group, then wraps her arms protectively around Quinn.

"I'm sorry I couldn't forewarn you, darling. It had to be realistic. Dexter said you did very well."

"If by very well you mean went one on one against the guy who killed you and earned the world's biggest bruise from using her ass to walk down some stairs, then yes," Santana nods, "she deserves an Academy Award for her performance. She could almost rival you, Berry."

Scoffing, Quinn glares at Dexter while leaning over to press the three hundredth kiss to Rachel's head in the last hour. She was so happy she could barely keep herself in the chair. It felt like every cell in her body was vibrating with joy to have Rachel back in her personal space.

"Aw, do you forgive me?" Rachel pouts, brushing the blonde's bangs aside.

"I suppose." Quinn says, with an eye roll. "But you only get to fake die once, Rachel, no buts. And you!" Quinn adds, pointing at Dexter, menacingly. "Don't poison my wife again! No!"

Humming in delight, Rachel kisses Quinn's neck and raises an eyebrow at the man, chuckling.

"Told you she wouldn't forgive and forget."

"What about me?" Nicole interrupts, plopping down in the seat next to Quinn and smacking a wet kiss against her cheek. Fluttering her eyelashes, she tilts her head. "Do you forgive me for risking my life to save your's... and Rachel's... and probably Santana and Brittany's at some point in there... and-"

"Okay, okay," Quinn replies, pushing her away as Santana chuckles and wraps an arm behind Brittany's chair. "Jesus, Boss, just because you're all _we're family now_ and everything doesn't mean you can get all touchy-feely. I don't want you sending me love notes at work or something."

Snorting, Nicole swipes a slice of pizza and takes a bite, talking as she chews.

"No worries there, Q. You're still my slave. And you've got a shit ton of work to catch up on come Monday."

"You'll be lucky if Quinn can even walk herself into the office by Monday." Santana grumbles, biting into her own pizza. "They're going to destroy my guest room with their love all weekend long. I may as well burn it off the apartment when they leave."

Brittany smiles, reaching to tap Rachel's hand on the table top.

"It's okay. She want's to get a bigger place anyway. But make sure you can walk on Monday, Rachel. There's an audition for a new show I'm choreographing that you're perfect for."

Rachel's squeal cuts through the pizza shop as she launches herself at Brittany, pulling her into a hug over the middle of the table.

"That's WONDERFUL, Brittany."

Sighing, she collapses back in her chair, leans her head against Quinn's chest, and smiles, content. Quinn smiles down at her and at each face in turn around the table. Santana and Brittany, the greatest friends she had ever known, jumping into the line of fire with only a moments notice. Nicole, her mentor turned mercenary, whose presence means more to her with each passing day. And Dexter, of course. The man who couldn't keep Rachel out of trouble...

and then put her directly into it...

and in return probably caused years of traumatic nightmares and emotional scarring...

Well, maybe that last friendship would need a little work. But all the same, Quinn felt as if she was connected to each of them, like a tiny strand of light bounced from one to another, and that thought warmed her heart, beating steadily there against Rachel's cheek.

"You know what would make this day perfect?" She says finally, breaking the silence of her friends as they eat around her.

"What's that, babe?" Rachel replies, looking up with sleepy eyes.

Quinn shrugs, meeting their expectant looks.

"Making that wife thing final."

All signs of sleepiness disappear as the right side of Rachel's mouth tugs up and Dexter sighs, reaching for his coat.

"I'll get the car."

* * *

_...three months later..._

After so many months of being shut off from the life she wanted, Rachel could hardly believe all she had gained in such a short time. A handful of close friends who supported her no matter what, a starring role on a new Broadway play set to release in just a few more weeks, a home where she could go and actually feel safe at night, anxiety free, and a love that was all her own and so much more than she could have ever hoped for.

Sighing smittenly, she runs a brush through her hair, humming under her breath. Things couldn't possibly be better.

She stiffens as a hand covers her mouth from behind, a voice rasping roughly against her ear.

"Keep quiet and this will be quick and painless."

Sucking in a breath, Rachel struggles to see the person against her back until their teeth clamp down hard, tugging mercilessly at her earlobe.

"Better yet," Quinn husks, flipping her around and pushing her up against the wall. "Go ahead and be loud."

Rachel's low chuckle turns into a moan as Quinn growls, pressing light kisses up her neck.

"Babe, wait until after the show. I have a hard enough time noticing everyone else when you're there, let alone if you have your way with me before hand."

Running her hands up and down Rachel's sides, Quinn smiles and presses a final kiss to the brunette's lips.

"Fiiiiiiinnee. Break a leg out there," she says turning with a grin. As she slips through the hanging fabric of the cast room, she adds over her shoulder, "then when we get home tonight, we'll play doctor."

She rolls her eyes, but a shiver goes up her spine none the less. Being married to Quinn definitely had its perks, but getting to go home to her after a long day was Rachel's favorite, hands down.

Taking a final glance in the mirror, Rachel turns and head out of the cast room towards the back stage, high-fiving a few crew members as she goes. Her black leather boots click quietly along the wooden floor as she spies Brittany, tugging on her fishnets in the alcoves of stage left and moves to stand beside her. Hidden in the darkened stage she spies Quinn and Santana, front and center at their usual table, chatting amicably as the house lights begin to fade out.

Rachel reaches out and squeezes Brittany's hand as the audience settles down into their seats.

"Here we are again, Rach."

Turning to meet Brittany's smiling face, Rachel grins.

"And it's good to be back, Britt."

The two drop hands as the sound system kicks on, Patti's voice echoing through the speakers.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, for your entertainment pleasure and for one night only, the Black Cat proudly presents, this year's crowd favorites, as voted by you! Take it away Rachel!"

As the lights flash on and the band starts the thumping beats of AC/DC's Dirty Deeds, Rachel, Brittany, and the other dancers stride out onto the stage to the whistles and cat calls of the house below and Rachel knows she's glowing. In all her moments, she can't help but wonder, if maybe this isn't her best one yet.

Reaching for the mike her eyes find Quinn's automatically, and with a sexy wink, she pops her hip, bites her lip, and begins, the single diamond on her left hand twinkling almost as bright as her eyes in the stage lights.

Almost.


End file.
